A Bottle of Luck
by twin-v
Summary: A little liquid luck goes a long way for Draco when he receives a bottle of Felix Felicis for his birthday. Why does he seem to run into Hermione Granger every time he takes a sip?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: We don't own Harry Potter or anything related to it, unfortunately.

A/N: This was written for the Draco Big Bang to celebrate Draco's 30th birthday. Happy birthday, Draco! Many thanks to our beta, Joanna. And thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed, favorited, etc. our other fics! We hope you'll enjoy this one enough to review/favorite/follow as well. :D

_Some hearts, they just get all the right breaks_

_Some hearts have the stars on their side,_

_Some hearts, they just have it so easy_

_Some hearts just get lucky sometimes._

_**Some Hearts, Carrie Underwood**_

_So this is what it feels like.  
_

The room erupted in cheers as the reality of what had just happened sunk in. Draco Malfoy watched as the Boy Who Lived was engulfed by friends and supporters. Draco himself sagged in relief against the nearest wall.  
_  
So this is what it feels like to be free._ He had only been in the thick of things for two years, but he had almost forgotten what it felt like to not be in a war. It was as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders, as if he could truly relax for the first time since the Dark Lord had returned.

But it only lasted for a few seconds. What was that saying? Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Surely now the only thing that awaited him was a dark cell in Azkaban, maybe one near his parents' cells if he was lucky. Speaking of his parents…there they were, locked in a tight embrace. They had found him moments before Potter's confrontation with the Dark Lord; Lucius had had to persuade his wife to release their son lest Draco die from lack of oxygen.

Draco looked around the Great Hall. The crowd was cheering, and everyone was either jumping up and down or embracing loved ones, both dead and living. Potter was at the center of it all. Draco turned to his parents.

"Let's go," Draco said urgently, breaking them apart, "quick, while no one will notice."

"Draco…"

"It's Azkaban for us, Mother! We have to run." He reached for her hand, determined to pull her with him.

"Draco." It was his father who spoke, looking resolute. "We have prepared for this eventuality, we knew it might happen, and we've decided to turn ourselves in."

Draco gawked at them. "But– but Father, if we leave now-"

"They will chase us. Can you honestly see us living on the run? They will eventually find us, and then the consequences will be much worse than if we plead guilty now."

"I don't want to go to Azkaban!" His voice rose with panic.

"With any luck you won't have to, Draco. We shall plead your case, and perhaps the Wizengamot will be considerate."

"Look, no one's looking at us, if we slip away now–"

"There is nowhere to hide that they won't find us. It's time to face the music, as the saying goes. I am hoping that if we cooperate then they will not be so harsh on us in court."

Draco paled even more. "In court? We haven't got a chance."

"With a good lawyer and some key witnesses, then we can perhaps avoid life imprisonment."

"Would any lawyer be willing to defend us? And I doubt witnesses would make much of a difference– what would they say, that at least our dungeons were clean?"

"Draco," Narcissa spoke up, "if we could get Harry Potter, or Hermione Granger–"

"–and maybe that Weasley brat," Lucius added.

Narcissa nodded. "Maybe they would testify on your behalf?"

"Not a chance," Draco retorted. "They hate us– and after Aunt Bella tortured Granger at home, I rather think they'll testify _against_ us instead."

"I think Potter would testify for me," Narcissa said softly.

Draco was silent for a while. "Maybe," he allowed reluctantly, feeling a sudden wave of despair crash through him. "Maybe for you." He closed his eyes, wishing now, more than ever, that Potter had just shaken his bloody hand when they were younger. Things might have been so different.

"Is it really that bad?" his mother asked, and he could hear the hope in her voice. But she didn't know- she didn't know that he had broken Potter's nose, that he regularly taunted Weasley about his family and his fortune (or lack thereof), and that he never missed an opportunity to sneer at Granger for her blood. He had let Death Eaters into the school, and had almost directly been the cause of their beloved Dumbledore's death. There was no way they would forgive him. But then, hadn't they saved him? Just a few scant hours ago, Potter had caught his hand and pulled him away from the Fiendfyre. Potter didn't have to do that, but he had done it anyway. And if he had saved Draco once, maybe he would do it again.

Draco opened his eyes and looked at his mother. "I don't know," he admitted. He looked at the trio, now engulfed, again, in Mrs. Weasley's arms. How had Potter, the orphan, managed to end up with such a big family?

"I'll ask them," Narcissa decided, taking a step towards them.

"Mother!" Draco hissed. "Give them time." They were all crying, he noticed. One of the twins was lying on a table, his brother standing as still as a statue beside him. He looked at his father for support. Lucius shook his head.

"We might not get another chance to talk to them, Draco," he said. "We have to act now."

Draco shook his head and turned around, walking a short distance away to sit against the wall of the Great Hall. He couldn't bear to watch his mother try to get the trio's attention. They would either ignore her or laugh in her face. He leaned his head back against the wall and stared at the enchanted ceiling. A clear, cloudless sky. He wondered what time it was, as the sun was already rising. He found he didn't care.

His eyes wandered to where his parents were. They were standing with Longbottom and Lovegood, who were obviously telling them not to go anywhere near Potter, who was still swamped by admirers. He ignored the sudden urge to go over to Potter and tell him to listen to Lucius and Narcissa. Draco really didn't want to end up in Azkaban.

Azkaban. Wizarding parents used it to scare their children into behaving. Draco had never seriously imagined he'd end up there. He shuddered, picturing the dark, the cold. He imagined rats, cockroaches, spiders and all sorts of filth. He imagined death. He knew that if he entered Azkaban, he wouldn't come out alive. Draco bit his lips to keep them from trembling. He wondered what was worse– living in Azkaban, or having the Dark Lord as a guest in your home.

Were the Dementors still there? He wondered what sort of awful memories would come flooding back. Everything in the past two years, most likely. Draco closed his eyes and tried to imagine what it would feel like. The guilt at having cursed Katie Bell, the terror when pointing his wand at Dumbledore on the tower, the horror of having the Dark Lord turn his childhood home into headquarters. Seeing Granger screaming and writhing on the floor. Realizing that Crabbe had died.

"Draco!"

He awoke with a jerk, not even realizing that he had fallen asleep. Draco looked up to see his mother, with Potter, Weasley and Granger in tow, beckoning him towards them. Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself up. He was about to see his parents beg his classmates to save his life. Could the Malfoys have fallen any lower? He walked towards them, hands in his pockets. Weasley seemed to be smirking, slightly. Draco realized his face was still covered in blood from when something had broken his nose.

"Malfoy," Potter nodded.

"Potter. Er... congratulations," Draco added, not sure of what else to say. He knew immediately that it was the wrong thing to do.

"It wasn't a bloody _Quidditch match_, Malfoy," Potter spat. Granger touched his arm reproachfully and looked almost apologetically at Draco.

"We know what you mean," she said, although her tone was still less than friendly. Draco couldn't blame her for being wary with his father standing not three feet away.

"What did you want to say?" Potter asked Narcissa. He glanced at the Weasleys, who were all, with the exception of the sole surviving twin, watching the group carefully.

Draco stared fixedly at the ground as his mother began her request. This was it, this was rock bottom. He tried not to imagine the smug, triumphant faces that would soon appear on the trio's faces.

"We know that, given our circumstances... I mean, our side in the war, we face Azkaban," Narcissa started. "All of us, including Draco. And I... I ask..." _Don't beg, Mother!_ "–no, I implore you three, if you could– if you _would_ testify for us."

"And say what?" Weasley burst out.

"Mrs. Malfoy lied to Voldemort for me," Draco heard Potter tell his friends. "I haven't had the chance to tell you everything yet, but in the forest, she told him I was dead, but I wasn't. If she hadn't done that, he would have tried to kill me again."

"Why would she do that?"

Draco fisted his hands in his pockets, trying to pretend they weren't talking about his mother like she wasn't there. "She wanted to know if Malfoy was all right," Potter said. He turned to Narcissa. "I'll tell the Wizengamot what you did."

Narcissa smiled, evidently relieved. "Thank you."

Potter nodded and, since he wasn't completely lacking manners, murmured "goodbye" before turning away. Draco waited for his mother to call them back but instead felt a hand on his back, pushing him forward. _Crap_. "Potter!"

The trio turned around again, staring at Draco expectantly, looking slightly disgusted. Draco cleared his throat and said the first thing that came to his head. "What about me? Will you testify for me, too?" He cringed, realizing how pathetic he sounded.

Potter looked surprised. He looked at Granger, who was frowning. "You mean when we were brought to your house?" she asked. Draco nodded.

"What are you talking about, Hermione?" Weasley turned red with anger. "They locked us in the dungeons! His mad aunt tortured you, while he did nothing to help! And in the Room of Requirement earlier, he and Crabbe and Goyle tried to kill us!"

"He told Crabbe not to kill us!"

Did he? Draco could barely remember that now.

"So he could take us to You Know Who himself!"

"We don't know that! All I know, all I can say on the witness stand is that he tried to stop Crabbe from killing us," Granger insisted. "And he did save Goyle," she added softly. Weasley gaped at her.

"You're going to testify for him?" he yelled. "After everything he's done? He brought bloody Death Eaters into the school last year! It's his fault Bill's scarred! And he poisoned me!"

"I didn't ask Greyback to attack your brother," Draco said defensively. "And Greyback wasn't even supposed to come, I didn't know he'd be there. And the mead wasn't meant for you."

"Oh, but it's fine if other Death Eaters were in school, right?" Weasley said scathingly. "And all those times you've called Hermione a Mudblood, those times you jeered at my family– look who's laughing now, Malfoy."

Draco glanced at his parents, who didn't say a word. Typical. Draco wanted to apologize, wanted to tell the trio that he knew now how pointless things like blood and fortune were. He knew how petty their taunts and insults were, how harmless they were compared to razor-sharp spells. He wanted to say 'please', but couldn't. They'd laugh at him. They'd spit on him. Potter had turned down his handshake once, and he would probably do it again. Shaking his head, Draco muttered, "Forget it," and turned away. His legs were shaking, his heart thudding madly. It was Azkaban for him. He tried to stop the rising panic. He bowed his head, ashamed.

He had only taken a few steps before Potter spoke. "I know you didn't kill Dumbledore," he said. Draco turned around. "I was there, on the tower. I saw you lower your wand. Dumbledore offered you safety, and you were about to take it." Draco nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Potter's. "You said you had to do it, or Voldemort would kill you. And yet, you didn't."

"I couldn't," Draco found himself saying, letting them know how weak he was. It wasn't his choice not to kill Dumbledore. On the tower, he would have killed the old man if he could.

"That just proves what Dumbledore said, then. You're not a killer."

Draco felt a wave of relief at Potter's logic. He had always wondered what would have happened if he _had_ killed Dumbledore; he had believed it when his aunt called him weak. But weak though he was, he wasn't a killer. "Will you–"

"Yes, I'll speak for you," Potter said, sparing Draco the indignity of having to ask again. Weasley spluttered.

"Harry! It's Malfoy, he tried an Unforgivable on you! He broke your nose!"

"He's our classmate, Ron!" Hermione drew herself up to her full height and stared the taller boy down. "He's our age! You can't send him to Azkaban like that, he's got his life ahead of him. I'll speak for him too, I'll tell the Wizengamot how he didn't name us when Bellatrix and–" she glanced at Lucius "–Mr. Malfoy asked him who we were. I'll tell them too that he spared us in the Room of Requirement." Her gaze softened. "You don't have to, Ron. But I will."

"What, saving his life from the Fiendfyre wasn't enough?"

"What kind of life would it be, if he was in Azkaban?" Potter countered. "Come on. Let's go. The others are waiting." He looked at Narcissa and Draco. "Just... owl us the details of your trials."

"It's not like you never wanted to break his nose, Ron," Hermione said snippily as they turned and walked away. "Besides, what would you have done?"

"I wouldn't have agreed to kill anyone in the first place!"

"Even if your parents were in danger?"

"And you would?" Ron asked incredulously.

"I don't know, let's hope we never find out."

"You've always had a thing for him, haven't you?"

"You're such an idiot, Ron."

Though their voices had faded, Draco stood still, staring at their retreating figures as they were swallowed by the crowd once more, wishing he had found the courage enough to thank them. He looked up at his parents, cowards in their own way. But he couldn't be angry at them. His father hadn't asked for help– he had done nothing to aid the trio– and Draco knew, as did his parents, that it would be a long time before his father would leave Azkaban. His mother pulled him into another family embrace, and Draco wondered why they only started doing this now, now that they were about to be separated.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco tried not to fidget as he waited for the Wizengamot to return from their recess. It wasn't often that a wizard as young as himself was tried in front of the Wizengamot, the highest court in Wizarding England– in fact, it seemed as though the last young wizard to be tried by the Wizengamot was Harry Potter himself, for a case of underage magic. Draco wasn't sure if it was because he was being charged for attempted murder of Albus Dumbledore (a former Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot), or because he had been an under-aged Death Eater and the last of one of the oldest Pureblood families in Europe, but the Ministry had decided that his case go straight to the top. Or maybe it was simply because Harry Potter had decided to testify.

Speaking of the Boy Who Lived, Potter hadn't returned since the day he had testified. He had given his testimony, and quite a long, shocking one at that– Draco had had no idea Potter knew so much– and hadn't shown up again, as though he didn't care for the outcome. Well. Draco couldn't care less, as long as Potter had said his piece. There were more than enough people crammed into the courtroom. His was the first major war case to be tried, as there weren't too many charges against him; at least, not compared to his father and the other Death Eaters. The Aurors were still compiling notes on all of them. As a result, many people had shown up to learn the verdict, more out of curiosity than compassion.

Draco took a deep breath, trying to look impassive. It was quite a difficult thing to do when sitting alone in the middle of the Courtroom 1, with the audience gathered behind him on raised seats, giving them the perfect vantage point to watch him. He wondered how long it would take the Wizengamot to decide his sentence. The court had been called to order and the charges read out one last time– to Draco it felt as though the Wizengamot were trying to rub it in. There had been quite a lot of ceremony, probably for the benefit of the large audience, before the court members had finally left the room. They had already been gone for close to an hour. As soon as they had left the courtroom had exploded in noise; many people stood up to talk to their friends from across the room, or to yell obscenities at the Malfoys, which Draco pretended not to hear. The Malfoy family lawyer, Mr. Witters, sat slightly behind and to Draco's right, but Draco had no interest in talking to the old man, who was already going over his notes for Narcissa's case, which was in two weeks. Narcissa and Lucius themselves had been granted permission to attend the hearing, as both had given statements describing Draco's upbringing and the period that Voldemort resided in their Manor. They sat a few feet behind Draco, and he wanted to turn around to talk to them, but already he could hear his mother sobbing and he didn't feel up to the task of comforting her. Somewhere on the seats to Draco's left sat Hermione Granger. He could just barely see her out of the corner of his eye, and he turned his head slightly to look at her.

To his amazement, she was reading! She had brought a book to his trial. Draco wanted to laugh, it was so typically Granger. He would have assumed that she, like Potter, didn't care for the verdict, but he noticed the way her eyes darted every so often to the small door from which the court members would enter, and that she never turned her page. Once, her gaze turned to him, and she gave him a small smile before going back to her book. Draco quickly looked away, frowning slightly. He didn't know what to think. Was she being condescending? Did she pity him? Or was she merely trying to be friendly?

His mind wouldn't settle on her, though. Draco had more important things to think of, like his own future. He wondered if the Wizengamot were as fair as they were supposed to be– or if not, he hoped that they at least leaned towards Potter and not away from him. He supposed it took them longer than normal to reach a decision, as it was more than one charge being put before them, unlike in simpler cases where they only had to raise their hands and vote. There was even that small matter of the charge brought against him by an anonymous informant; someone had told the prosecutor about the time in sixth year when Draco attempted to cast the Cruciatus on Potter, and so the prosecutor asked Potter about it when he testified. Draco had to give the Gryffindor credit– although he truthfully answered the questions, Potter still tried to defend Draco by admitting that he caused more damage than Draco had. Draco could see that Potter still felt somewhat guilty about almost killing him, and, in typical Gryffindor fashion, tried to take all the blame for the incident. It didn't seem to work, but Draco had to admit, he appreciated the effort.

He was pulled from his thoughts when a wizard commanded everyone to rise. Draco stood, his heart pounding so forcefully he was sure the entire courtroom could see his body shaking. He didn't know what to expect, he didn't know if he dared to hope. He closed his eyes briefly, saying a little prayer to whoever was listening.

"Draco Malfoy, you have been accused of the following charges," Clementine Ryder, the Supreme Mugwump, began. "The attempted murder of Albus Dumbledore, then Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, former Supreme Mugwump, Order of Merlin, First class... you all know him. The smuggling of illegal substances and objects into Hogwarts, that led to the near-deaths of Miss Katie Bell and Mr. Ronald Weasley. The smuggling of Death Eaters into the school, and three counts of using Unforgivables– the first, an Imperius against Rosmerta Doone, the second, an Imperius on Katie Bell, and the third, a Cruciatus against Harry Potter. All of these occurred while you were 16, still a minor. That is fortunate for you because you have been found guilty of all charges."

Draco felt his stomach drop. His knees almost gave way. _Guilty_. It was true, he was.

"The court is convinced, however, that for the most part you acted to save your family, and not because you truly supported He Who Must Not Be Named. You are also accused of five more counts of using Unforgivables in your seventh year at Hogwarts; however, it has since been proven that you were forced to perform them by your teachers, and hence, you have been found not guilty. The court has also taken into account your actions in not naming Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger when they were brought before you at your residence in Wiltshire, your intervention when Mr. Vincent Crabbe attempted to cast the Killing curse at the aforementioned students, and your efforts in saving Mr. Vincent Crabbe and Mr. Gregory Goyle from the Fiendfyre at Hogwarts. The Wizengamot has decided that you shall spend one month in Azkaban, after which are required at least six months' worth of uncompensated service within the Ministry for Magic."

He was half-listening as the Supreme Mugwump outlined the conditions of his job at the Ministry. Draco got the gist of it– no getting into trouble. His mind was stuck on the stint in Azkaban. One month? He could survive that. It took years for people to go mad, right? Or was it a matter of weeks, days? Was his mind weaker or stronger, because he was only 17? And was a month thirty days? Or thirty-one? It should be twenty-eight, because there were seven days in a week, and four weeks in a month.

Draco shook himself slightly and turned his attention back to the lady. He could already feel his sanity slipping.

"–monthly meetings with a court-approved representative to assess your behaviour and progress. If, at the end of the six months, he or she is satisfied with your contribution to society and self-improvement, you shall be under no further obligation. If he or she is unhappy with your performance, your behaviour shall be reviewed by the court, and further sanctions will be employed. Is that understood, Mr. Malfoy?"

He forced himself to speak. "Yes, Your Honour."

"Your month in Azkaban shall begin today. Once you are released from the prison, you will be given your job details at the Ministry, and you have one week to readjust to life outside bars before beginning your work. All clear, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Good. Court adjourned."

Draco stood still as the Wizengamot left, unsure what to do. When the door had finally closed behind the last Interrogator, his mother approached him and embraced him.

"Oh Draco, one month! This is better than I had hoped for. The Wizengamot aren't as biased as I thought they would be– I do believe we owe it to Mr. Potter," she said happily. Draco wanted to scowl at her, tell her a month in Azkaban was as bad as a month in hell, but he bit his tongue, reminding himself that his parents were likely to be in the prison for many years. Suddenly he realized how short one month was.

His father stood beside them. "I think the guards want to take us away," he said, raising his voice slightly so they could hear him over the noise of the audience leaving the courtroom.

Narcissa nodded, not looking pleased at the idea of returning to Azkaban. She glanced over Draco's shoulder, and her face softened slightly. "Draco, there's Miss Granger. She looks like she'd like a word." She turned to the guard waiting beside her and said, "My son will just thank Miss Granger over there, if you don't mind waiting a few more minutes." He shrugged, and Narcissa gave Draco a slight nudge in Hermione's direction. Draco got the feeling his mother was stalling, anything for a few more minutes of 'freedom'.

Hermione Granger was indeed hovering uncertainly several feet away, and she looked relieved when Draco approached her. "Harry and Ron are sorry they couldn't come," she began talking rapidly, like she always did when she was nervous. "They were busy with something, but they'll be happy to know your sentence isn't too bad. It was Ginny who told the court about that incident in sixth year, the one where Harry almost killed you. She's never forgiven you for saying the Unforgivable, and she always completely forgets that Harry was in the wrong too," she said, sniffing in disapproval. "Anyway, we're sorry about that."

Draco was confused, wondering what _she_ could possibly apologize for, but he didn't press the matter. "I have to... thank you. And Potter, and even Weasley, for helping me out," he muttered, feeling terribly awkward.

To his surprise, Hermione turned pink. She seemed as uncomfortable accepting his thanks as he felt giving it, although he could tell she was pleased. "We couldn't not do anything, Malfoy. You don't deserve a harsher punishment. We've all suffered, even you."

"Yeah, well..." He wanted to ask her why, why she and Potter bothered to help him. After all that had happened, hating the trio seemed almost petty. Perhaps they felt the same way. Even so, he wouldn't have gone through such lengths to help them; he might not have helped them at all. Somehow the answer 'they're Gryffindor' didn't seem to cover it anymore. But he didn't ask. "Tell Potter too, okay?"

"Of course."

Draco nodded, for lack of a better thing to do. Then he cleared his throat. "How many days in a month, Granger? Thirty? Thirty-one?"

"Well, since you're going... _there_ today," she said, unwilling to say 'prison' or 'Azkaban', "and it's the 24th of August, you'll be out on the 24th of September. It's about thirty-one days. But you won't spend the whole of today in there, so think of it as thirty and a half. And if you think of it that way, it's only... only 732 hours..."

It was funny talking to Granger, Draco decided. When she got nervous, she said a lot; when he got nervous, he didn't. He had to admit he was impressed, but not surprised, by her mental arithmetic. He didn't know why they were so awkward around each other. Maybe it was because they had never had a decent conversation with each other in their lives. It was something he could think about during his 732 hours in Azkaban. He cleared his throat again. "Listen, I've got to go."

"Yes," she said, nodding her head vigorously. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry to have kept you from... I mean, it was–" she took a deep breath "–strange, but nice, talking to you."

Draco almost smirked. "You too, Granger."

She smiled. "All the best, Malfoy."

He nodded in acknowledgment before walking back to his parents. His mother looked impassive, almost pleased, while his father wore a look of disgust. "Don't look at her like that," Draco snapped, annoyed.

"Like what?"

"Like it's her fault. Like she's beneath us." Abruptly, Draco stopped himself. He hadn't been raised to talk back to his parents, and he wasn't about to start then, especially over a Muggleborn. But his father had to accept that blood didn't matter, especially when it came to Hermione Granger.

Lucius frowned. "To see you talking to and having to _thank_ such a girl– I understand that we should be grateful to her, Draco, but I thought you hated her," he said in a low voice. "If not because of her blood, then because she always beat you at school!"

_I didn't hate her because she was beneath me, I hated her because she was _better_ than me._ Draco's eyes widened at the realization, and he was thankful he hadn't said it out loud. He wasn't sure if it was true or not.

Sighing, he followed his parents back to Azkaban. He had a lot of things to think about, and a lot of time with which to think.

**A/N: **Thanks for all the reviews and alerts and favorites! :) Thanks for reading this chapter, we hope you like it as well.


	3. Chapter 3

It hadn't been a good day.

Hell, it hadn't been a good week. Ever since he'd come out of the month he'd spent in prison, leaving his parents behind in Azkaban, the Wizarding community had treated him with scorn. The only people who had spoken to him civilly were the Ministry officials who told him about the job he would be doing at the Ministry as a sort of punishment for his bad deeds. For six months, Draco was required to assist in filing reports of people who had died or been reported missing since the Dark Lord's ascent to power. It was supposed to make Draco realize just how many people and families had been affected by the war that the Malfoys had supported. No one in his office seemed inclined to be the least bit civil to him. They had simply left him in a tiny room crammed with papers, after telling him to file them properly. They didn't say in what order or arrangement, so Draco had set about the tedious task as best he could without really knowing what he was doing. Sure enough, when his boss had checked his progress, he had been yelled at for being incompetent and again was left with no instruction, despite asking for it. Eventually, after several more tries, he seemed to have found the order his boss had been looking for, because he hadn't been yelled at in three days.

That was perhaps the only improvement. Although Draco knew he was making good progress in his work, he realized that it was hard to be happy about yourself when no one else was. He still couldn't find a friendly face in the Ministry's cafeteria when he went for lunch, or in the lift (he had been pushed out of it more than once). It was depressing, to say the least. Even though many thought Draco to be cold and unfeeling, he wasn't really, and the constant rejection and isolation was hard for him to deal with. It didn't help that he wasn't good at acting friendly to others, not even the cafeteria staff. He only hoped they weren't spitting in his food or poisoning him.

At the end of the day, which had been particularly disheartening, Draco took out a bottle of a potion that the house elves had given him when he was released from prison. It had a note in his mother's handwriting.

"Happy Birthday, our dearest son. We are sorry not to be able to share it with you. We hope that this brings you some happiness, but please do not ask how we got it. Love, Mother and Father"

Draco had been in the holding cell in the Ministry for his birthday, but his parents had obviously not known that when they had prepared the gift. And they must have prepared it before they had been imprisoned too. Months had passed since his eighteenth birthday, but he hadn't yet taken the potion because of one small problem.

He didn't know what it was.

It wasn't that he didn't trust his parents, but he didn't know how or when the best time to use the potion would be. There were only a few people he could think of who could identify potions by sight alone. Snape, who was dead, Slughorn, who probably would never want to speak to him, and Granger, who had helped him so much already that he couldn't bear to ask for more help.

Something to bring him happiness... what he needed was something to bring him company... a love potion? But then he would have to make someone else drink it, not drink it himself. And who would ever drink something given by Draco Malfoy? No one trusted him. Maybe if he was lucky, he could–

Draco paused in his thoughts. Lucky. Luck. What was it Granger had said, way back in Sixth year? Liquid luck. Slughorn had offered it as a prize to whoever could brew the best potion. How hard he had tried to win it! He thought that with some luck he might have killed Dumbledore, or perhaps have found a way to _not_ kill him. This potion certainly looked similar. Draco uncorked the bottle and sniffed it. It was no use, however, as he couldn't remember what it was supposed to smell like. But the more he thought about it, the surer he was that the bottle he was holding contained Felix Felicis.

He sat back in his chair, thinking. If he had a small sip at a time, he could use it quite a few times. He'd save it for weekends, though, so he'd have something to look forward to. And maybe the occasional weekday, if things really weren't going his way.

Already feeling a whole lot better, Draco called an elf to prepare dinner, and went to the library to see what he could find about that potion.

By the time the weekend rolled around, Draco was convinced that the tiny bottle did indeed hold Felix Felicis. After the week he'd had, he felt he deserved at least a sip. He opened the bottle carefully and, without giving himself any time to have second thoughts, raised it to his lips and took a small sip. He felt the potion take effect almost immediately.

He was euphoric. Draco really felt that everything would go his way that day. He headed to his closet and pulled out his only set of Muggle clothes, deciding to spend the day in the Muggle world. No one would shy away from him, or treat him like scum. He'd be just like everyone else.

That was an interesting thought. For most of his life, Draco had always tried to stand out, to prove that he was the best. Now, he just wanted to blend in, to be anonymous or forgotten. He had considered going to the Muggle world several times, but it was only with Felix Felicis that he had the courage to go.

Almost as an afterthought– and because Felix Felicis was urging him to– Draco grabbed a brolly before he left for Diagon Alley. After a quick stop at Gringotts to change some galleons into Muggle money, Draco passed through the Leaky Cauldron and took a deep breath before stepping out into the midst of Muggles. He glanced around– and let out his breath in a sigh of relief. The Muggles hurried past him, barely giving him a second glance. The few that did look at him did so without contempt. Draco grinned at no one in particular. It felt good. Of course, it would probably feel even better if people were actually friendly, but that was perhaps too much to ask, even with Felix Felicis.

Draco let the potion guide him as he walked down the various streets of London. There was a spring in his step that had been missing since his sixth year at Hogwarts. He used to think that once out of Azkaban, everything would be all right. He would be happy. But freedom hadn't been as sweet as he had expected. He couldn't go anywhere without being scorned. He didn't like darkness, and had to sleep with what one might consider a nightlight, otherwise he was reminded of the absolute darkness of his prison cell. Along with that fear of darkness came a touch of claustrophobia– no, Draco hadn't escaped Azkaban unchanged. It was understandable that he found himself revelling in the anonymity and freedom that Muggle London afforded, and he vowed to return in the near future. But first he needed more Muggle clothes.

The pull of the potion directed him to a seemingly random store and he quickly found some trousers that fit him, as well as a couple of shirts he liked. He stepped up to the counter to pay for them, and the sales lady beamed at him.

"Anything else, sir?"

"Just these," Draco replied confidently. He had a feeling that he ought to visit another store a few meters down the road. He handed over the right amount of cash, suddenly feeling like something big was going to happen, like he was going to have a sudden stroke of luck.

"Here's your receipt, and here's a scratch card for our Instant-Prize Promo, since you spent over fifty pounds," she said, passing them to him on the counter. Draco stared blankly at the scratch card, until she handed him a coin. "You can use this, sir, if you haven't got one."

"I've never, er-"

"Just rub off the gray stuff with the coin, and it should say whether or not you've won a prize. Our grand prize is a new laptop." The saleslady turned to the next customer, and Draco shuffled to the side, picking up the coin and doing as instructed.

"Congratulations," he read quietly as the words were revealed, his excitement mounting, "you have won an umbrella." He stared at it dumbly for a few moments before the saleslady peered at the card and gave him another smile. "Here you go, sir, a nice new brolly. And it looks like you'll need it soon enough."

"I already have one," Draco explained, feeling that the potion had let him down somehow. He didn't really want a bright yellow brolly.

"Take it anyway, you never know when you'll need it. Besides, it's free."

Draco had to concede that point, and so he left the store with a bag of new clothes and a new brolly. He was passing another store when he saw a jacket he liked, so he ducked in to buy it. When he came back out, the heavens had opened and it was pouring. Draco surreptitiously cast a water repelling charm on his clothes and quickly opened his old, black umbrella. Around him, unfortunate Muggles scurried around, seeking shelter.

"This rain is freezing," a girl exclaimed loudly, sharing an umbrella with her friend, "I swear I'll never leave home without a brolly again."

"Granger," Draco said before he could stop himself. He hadn't seen the girl's face, but he thought he knew her voice, and perhaps the Felix Felicis has prompted him to say it out loud because the girl stopped and turned to look at him. It was indeed Hermione Granger.

"Malfoy?"

"Hermione," her friend whined, trying to fit under the umbrella as much as possible.

"I have a spare one," Draco said, reaching into his carrier bag and pulling out his bright yellow prize. He offered it to Hermione, and she hesitated only a moment before taking it.

"Thanks." She smiled at him quizzically, and introduced him to her friend Anna.

"Nice to meet you, Draco," Anna said, shaking his hand. Draco returned the sentiment, feeling that it really was nice to meet her, since she was a Muggle and therefore unlikely to hate him.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked curiously, now sheltered by the yellow umbrella.

"Shopping," he said, indicating the bag he was holding. "I happened to win that extra brolly at one of the shops. You can have it though." He barely suppressed a shudder at the thought of being seen in public holding that bright Hufflepuff-coloured object.

Hermione noticed his reaction and hid a smile. "Well, thanks anyway."

Anna joined the conversation. "We were just heading for some lunch, what about you?"

Draco glanced at his watch, surprised that it was past noon already. "I hadn't noticed the time. Lunch too, I suppose."

"Would you like to join us?"

Draco traded looks with Hermione. While she was by far his favourite member of the Golden Trio, they had never been friends, and possibly would never be friends. Then again, he mused, there was always a chance... It was lucky that he had seen her on one of the busiest streets in London. If the potion was presenting him with an opportunity like this, he wasn't going to let it go.

"Are you sure? Only if Granger doesn't mind."

"I don't mind," Hermione replied, although Draco thought she seemed quite reluctant. She probably did mind, but didn't want to be impolite in front of Anna.

"We planned to just get some fast food, hope you don't mind? I've got to meet some people at one-thirty."

Draco inclined his head, not knowing what fast food entailed, but deciding to trust the two ladies anyway. "Lead the way."

Anna turned around and continued down the way she and Hermione had originally been headed, before Draco had stopped them. Draco found himself walking beside Hermione, concentrating on manoeuvring their brollies through the crowd of umbrellas.

"What are you doing in this part of London?" Hermione asked him, and he knew that by 'this part' she meant the Muggle part.

Draco shrugged. "I'm invisible here." He didn't care to elaborate, but he figured she would understand him. Smartest witch of their age, and all that.

For some reason it annoyed him when he saw her turn to look at him. She stared at him for a few seconds, then glanced away. "I see."

Draco bristled, but had to dodge an oncoming umbrella. He raised his up so both the oncoming one and Hermione's had space, but scowled as some water dripped from theirs onto him, a few drops trickling down his neck. "Are we almost there? And what's fast food, anyway? _Fast_ food? Does that mean it's really quick, or is it what Mug– you know, eat when they're fasting? You know, where I grew up, when people fast, they tend not to eat at all."

Hermione laughed. "Fast food is served quickly, you just queue up and order, and it's served right away. And yes, fasting means not eating. We're not all that different, Malfoy, we speak the same language after all."

Draco was spared from having to reply when he saw Anna duck into a restaurant, and he quickly followed. "Burger King?" he asked skeptically.

"Yes, is there a problem?"

"No."

"Do you know what to order?" Hermione asked as they queued up, water from their umbrellas dripping onto the floor.

Draco stared at the menu behind the counter. "Honestly, I've no idea."

"I'll just get my usual," Anna said. "People say I'm boring because I always order the same thing, but it's fast food, how much variety can you get? Besides, it saves time; at least I don't have to waste time thinking."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "I normally get the same thing all the time, too, although sometimes I feel a bit more adventurous. Malfoy?"

"Um..." he frowned at all the different choice of burgers, combos, side orders, and felt completely lost. He looked at Hermione helplessly and moved closer to her so he could mutter into her ear. "What's good? I really don't know, maybe you could order for me?"

"Whopper? That's what Harry and Ron usually order," she replied under her breath. "Unless you don't want something they like?"

"Where's the Whopper?" he asked, scanning the menu. "Oh, there. Sounds okay, I guess. So how do I order? I just tell them I want a Whopper and pay them?"

"Yes, essentially. You can also choose to get the combo, and whether or not to upsize the–" Hermione stopped, and turned to Draco, who was looking slightly panicky. She took pity on him. "Look, why don't you try to find an empty table for us, and I'll order for you?"

Draco briefly scanned the restaurant for any free tables. He didn't want to get into any argument with a Muggle over a table. He spotted one near the back, and nodded. "Okay. I'll pay you back later."

There was a queue, so he had to wait for a few minutes before the girls returned, giving him time to think. Draco didn't quite know what to make of Hermione, he wondered why the potion had caused him to run into her. Remembering the Felix Felicis, Draco realized that the effects of the potion had subsided. He checked his watch- it had been about 70 minutes, just over an hour. It was good to know roughly how long a sip of the potion would last.

He craned his head, trying to spot Hermione in the crowd of Muggles. The countless hours in Azkaban hadn't been spent in thinking of the Muggleborn witch. He had thought about her from time to time, especially in the beginning, but he quickly came to a conclusion about her. She wasn't as bad as he had believed. If she was annoying, it was because of her nature and not her blood. Her disadvantage in the wizarding world wasn't her blood, it was her birth; Muggle parents really couldn't replace wizarding parents when it came to preparing their children for Hogwarts. But even that obstacle had been overcome and she had consistently been the top of their year. The first few days in Azkaban had been enough for Draco to reluctantly acknowledge his slight admiration and respect for Hermione Granger.

From there his thoughts turned to Muggles in general, but as he didn't have much experience with them he could only conclude that maybe they weren't quite as inferior as he had believed, although he still couldn't conceive how they could live without magic.

What occupied his thoughts on most days were the horrible memories of the Dark Lord in his childhood home, the torture inflicted on various people by his own aunt and even his own father. Draco thought about himself and the circumstances he found himself in. He thought about life after Azkaban and how alone he would be without his parents.

Even after his release from Azkaban Draco hadn't thought about Hermione. It was therefore a shock to see her. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, if he had thought his time in prison would have changed her as much as it changed him, but it jolted him to see her looking just as she had at his trial.

Just then, Anna came with her tray laden with food, pulling him away from his thoughts. Draco chose not to comment on the quantity. It turned out that Anna's usual order included dessert.

"So," she began, after settling into her chair, "what's with you and Hermione? Are you her boyfriend?"

Draco snorted. "No."

"Her secret boyfriend?"

"No. We're barely friends."

"Really." Anna was grinning slyly at him, and he got the distinct impression that she didn't believe him at all. "So what was all that whispering behind my back while we were in line? Seems like you two have a secret."

"Right," he rolled his eyes. "I was just asking my secret girlfriend what cover story she told you about me, if any. And then we were plotting your demise, since not a living soul can know of our secret love affair."

Anna held up her hands in surrender. "All right, all right, forgive me for prying. I was just teasing," she chuckled.

Hermione arrived then, and set the tray down in front of Draco. "Here's your Whopper and chips, and that's your drink."

"Draco, what do you do for a living?" Anna asked, obviously keen to make conversation.

"I'm a secretary. I file things all day. It's quite mind-numbing, and one of the reasons I went out this weekend is so I could forget about it, if you don't mind." Draco took a big bite of his burger, staring at Anna over the top of it. It was really quite good.

"Oh, sorry to hear that. Hope you can get a job you enjoy more soon."

"What do you do?"

"I'm a computer programmer."

"Ah, computers. I've heard of those," Draco said proudly. Hermione kicked him under the table, and he realized he must have said the wrong thing. Whatever it was, thankfully, Anna was laughing, having taken his comment as a joke.

"Yes. I take it you're one of those who only use computers for the basics?"

"Er, right."

"It must help you a lot with work, I can't imagine life without computers."

"Yes, it would be quite hard without a computer," Draco said vaguely.

"I'm sure you have to file a lot of hardcopies still," Hermione put in, "but computers definitely help."

The three fell silent for a while, eating their food. He was lost in thought, unsure where he exactly stood with Hermione. They had been school rivals, they had intensely disliked each other, and yet at the end of the war she had helped him get a light sentence, and they had even been not so hostile, and almost friendly, with each other. Now, perhaps after months of not seeing one another, they had fallen back on civility. Inwardly sighing, Draco sort of wished they had managed to keep their brief, almost friendly relationship going. Having an almost-friend at this point in his life might be nice, even if she was Hermione Granger. Eventually, the silence got too much to bear, and he somehow felt that he ought to talk. "So, how are, er, Harry and Ron?"

Hermione looked amused. "They're fine, both in training. Training to be policemen." She turned her gaze over to Anna. "When's your next date with Ron?"

Draco gaped. "You're dating Weasley?"

Anna blushed. "It's only been two dates! So far, anyway. And what's wrong with him?"

Where to start? Draco wondered. But instead he said "I thought he'd be dating Granger."

"Well, he's not," Hermione said shortly.

Draco bit into his burger and chewed thoughtfully. He could definitely see what Weasley saw in Anna. She was pretty, beautiful even, and was rather pleasant to talk to. She carried herself well. He looked at his former classmate. She, on the other hand, carried books well, although on the rare occasions that she didn't have a truckload of books with her she was quite poised. He remembered being shocked at her transformation at the Yule Ball. Hermione was pretty too, he supposed. But perhaps Weasley had wanted someone who wasn't so bossy or naggy, or whose hair was straight and well-managed? Still, Anna was a Muggle.

He'd take Hermione any day.

His eyes widened as he replayed that last thought in his mind. Giving his head a slight shake he tuned back into the conversation between the two friends.

"...tomorrow night. We're going to watch a movie again, which is fine by me if I get to choose the film again. Last time he wanted this gory action one, but good thing he realized that that's most definitely not what you take a girl to see on the second date." Anna shook her head, and Hermione laughed. "So, Draco, what films do you usually watch on dates?"

"Films?" Draco asked, panicking slightly. What in the world were films? "Er...I don't usually go for films. I take them out for dinner."

"Doesn't that get boring?"

"Draco takes them to plays," Hermione added. Two pairs of eyes turned to stare at her.

"And how do you know?" Anna asked.

"I don't– I just– I heard about it," Hermione stammered, "at school."

"A likely story."

"Yes, a likely story," Hermione insisted. She was blushing, however, and decided to save herself by taking a large bite of food.

Draco was inwardly laughing at her embarrassment, but was glad she had sort of come to his rescue anyway. He would have to ask her more about films. Maybe they could even watch one, but if it was too date-like then he didn't want to.

Wait. Was he thinking of spending _more_ time with her? Something was wrong. He and Hermione weren't friends or anything; they didn't voluntarily spend time together. Yes, things had changed after the war, but not by so much that their turbulent history was forgotten.

"Anyway, I've got to run." Anna wiped her mouth and stood up. "Lovely to meet you, Draco." She extended her hand, and he shook it.

"Likewise."

"See you next weekend?" Hermione asked.

Anna nodded. "Steve will be there." The two women hugged, and then Anna was gone, leaving Draco and Hermione alone in the crowded restaurant.

"So how did you know I take girls to plays?" Draco asked eventually.

"I didn't. But films are like plays, only they're not acted out live. Honestly, you should try watching them. And I suggest that the next time you make a foray out into the Muggle world, you do some basic reading first."

Draco didn't appreciate her condescending tone, but it was a fair suggestion so he held his peace. "What do you do?" he asked, after several moments of quiet chewing. He wanted to show her that his civility wasn't solely for Anna's benefit.

Hermione looked surprised that he had asked. "I'm actually back at Hogwarts, to complete my seventh year. It's not required, but I feel like I have to do it. I'm also volunteering at the library, helping Madam Pince sort it out. Some areas were quite damaged during the battle. I would have loved to help with the rebuilding of the castle, but they called in experts to do it so it would be done on time, and I didn't want to be in the way. Working in the library is a good thing, though, because I get access to all the books."

"That sounds nice." He hoped his voice didn't betray the jealousy he felt. He hadn't completed his final year at Hogwarts, and as much as he would like to, he knew that even after he had served his sentence the chance of him being allowed back was slim. Also, sitting in Binn's class, daydreaming about pranks to pull on the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, or even just wondering what would be served for lunch was infinitely better than what he was currently doing.

"Can't you go back?"

He wondered if she was trying to embarrass him. "I've got to finish my six months at the Ministry," he muttered.

"Oh, right." She looked uncomfortable, as if ashamed that she had forgotten the conditions of his parole. "It's weird, not being with the same classmates, but it's all right. We 'eighth' years are actually allowed pretty free reign, we can go out on the weekends and all, especially since we can Apparate. That's how I can meet Anna and Harry and Ron on weekends. We can even leave the castle on schooldays, as long as we inform our Heads of House." Hermione finished the last of her burger and dabbed at her mouth with some tissue. "Speaking of which, I, er, have to go meet Harry and Ron in Diagon Alley now."

Draco nodded and stood up when she did. "I'm heading back home."

If either were put out that they'd be spending even more time together, since they were walking to the same destination, neither of them showed it. As they walked, Draco asked her why his life would be so much easier with computers. She tried to explain it in a way he'd understand, and as they neared Diagon Alley he finally felt as if he had some idea about it. Once they arrived at The Leaky Cauldron, Draco hesitated, knowing that he could Disapparate already. He was already drawing negative attention to himself, simply by being back in the Wizarding World.

Hermione turned around. "Well, it's been interesting, hasn't it Malfoy?" He wondered if she hadn't noticed the glares they were receiving.

"It certainly has."

"I hope you venture into the Muggle world more, and expand your horizons. I'll, uh, see you around." With a small smile, she headed to the back of the pub.

"See you." Draco was about to Disapparate when he had second thoughts. Best to get all the angry glares over with in one day, so he wouldn't have to return to the alley until his next trip to the Muggle world. He followed Hermione to the back of the pub and squeezed through the opening in the wall just before it closed. She raised an eyebrow at him curiously.

"Flourish and Blotts," he explained, "to get a Muggle Studies book."

This time, her smile lit up her whole face. "Malfoy, there's hope for you yet."

A/N: Thanks for all your lovely reviews! Always makes us smile (and check our email often, to find reasons to smile). We hope you enjoy this chapter :)


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Thanks for all the reviews! :) We're so glad you're enjoying this story. This chapter gives another glimpse of Muggle London. :)

Seven days later, Draco looked contemplatively at the bottle containing Felix Felicis. Last week had been quite an adventure, although he still wasn't sure how to feel about seeing Granger. He supposed it was for the best, because a solitary lunch in Muggle London didn't sound like fun, and the best person to spend time with while in the Muggle world was a Muggleborn, and the only Muggleborn who would tolerate him was Hermione Granger. It had definitely been the best part of his week. He wondered how long his bottle of potion would last him, and if it were possible to brew more– although he knew it was an extremely difficult potion, requiring about half a year to complete, not to mention the bad effects of continued and excessive use. Deciding to just enjoy what he had, he took a sip of the golden liquid and felt the euphoria rushing through him– he knew it would be a good day. Draco glanced down at his Muggle clothes and tucked his wand into his pocket before heading to the fireplace. It felt like a wonderful day to go to a park, and Regent's Park in Muggle London sounded perfect.

A few minutes later, Draco was standing in front of a sign that said Underground. _The Pureblood Idiot's Guide to Muggles_ by Eustace Nobb was particularly helpful, and Draco had read that the London Underground was a common method of travel. Feeling confident, he started down the steps and into the Leicester Square tube station.

His foot slipped slightly on the last step and he looked down; he had slipped on a small blue card. Draco picked it up, although it felt rather dirty, and looked around. A few feet away he spotted a familiar person digging frantically through her bag. He frowned, unsure of how he felt on seeing her again. While they weren't friends, she certainly knew everything there was to know about Muggles.

"Looking for this?"

Hermione Granger looked up, her eyes widening as she realized it was him. "Malfoy! What are you– Oh yes, my oyster card," she noticed the blue card he was holding. "Where did you find it? Must have slipped out of the holder, I thought it was in my bag..."

"Bottom of the steps," Draco said, handing it to her. "What's it for? It doesn't look like an oyster." His curiosity would be the death of him, he decided, starting with his ego.

"You use it on the tube," she replied, "unless you buy just a day pass or something. But basically it's like your ticket– if you use the tube often, it's well worth the money." Hermione looked at him curiously. "Where are you going? Are you planning on taking the tube?"

"I was thinking of it, yes," he admitted, wondering why Nobb hadn't mentioned anything about oysters in his book. "I'm going to Regent's Park."

"Oh! I'm going there too." Hermione smiled. "It's perfect, we can go together."

"A stroke of luck," Draco agreed, smirking slightly.

Hermione bought an oyster card and taught him how to top it up. Then she showed him a map and explained that she reckoned the easiest way was to take the Piccadilly line to Piccadilly Circus, and take the Bakerloo line from there to Regent's Park station. Draco was glad to have her with him, as they hadn't yet stepped on the train and he already felt completely lost.

As they made their way on the Bakerloo line– Hermione having managed to grab a seat and Draco clinging onto a pole for dear life– Draco found himself wondering what Hermione would say if he asked her why she was helping him. Obviously, Draco knew it was the Felix Felicis, but he wondered what compelled Hermione to do it.

"Granger," he asked, before he could lose his nerve, "why are you helping me?"

She frowned thoughtfully, and Draco knew he was about to receive a serious answer. "I know what it feels like," she said, looking up at him, "to find yourself in a place you know nothing about. Professor McGonagall was a huge help when I first went to Diagon Alley, and I figured you could use the same help. And I'm glad you're venturing into... _this_ place. It takes courage."

Courage Draco knew he wouldn't have without the liquid luck. He was astounded at how honest Hermione was being. "Thanks," he muttered.

She smiled at him. "Come on, we're here," she said, as the train once again screeched to a halt. The doors slid open and Hermione led Draco out of the station. "Regent's Park," she announced, as they entered the park.

"It's beautiful," Draco said approvingly. The leaves were just beginning to change colour, painting the scenery with different shades of green, red and orange. "What's there to do here?"

Hermione laughed. "Just keep walking, you're bound to find something to do. You could either just walk around and enjoy the scenery, or visit the zoo, or... why don't you come with me for a bit? I'm meeting Anna and her brother, Steve."

"Sure." It felt right. For the first time Draco considered what it would be like to have Muggle friends. They would be Muggles, yes– and Draco would need to lie and pretend he was a Muggle too, but on the plus side, they wouldn't judge him at all.

They walked along the park, admiring the landscape and watching as people enjoyed themselves. The park was large, and Draco felt lost as Hermione led them through various paths. He was just about to ask her if she knew where she was going when she pointed to a group of people up ahead.

"I think that's them," she said. "Anna said Steve and his friends would be playing football."

"That's Muggle Quidditch, isn't it?"

Hermione laughed. "Sort of. Basically you just kick the ball to make a goal." She suddenly lifted her arm and waved, and Draco tore his eyes away from the game to see Anna walking towards them. "Look who I found at the tube station!" Hermione called to her friend. "Hope you don't mind that I brought him along," she added, when Anna was within earshot.

"Not at all," Anna hugged Hermione and turned to smile at Draco. "Hello again."

"Hello, Anna," Draco said politely, not missing the looks she was giving him, obviously pleased that Hermione had brought him along.

"I'll introduce you to my brother," she said, linking her arm through Hermione's as they headed towards the football players. "STEVE!" she yelled, surprising Draco with how loud she was. He looked at Hermione, who was met his gaze, biting her lips and trying not to laugh. "Hermione and her friend Draco are here!"

The football game was put on hold as a dark-haired man broke away from the team. "Hermione, good to see you again," Steve said, giving her a friendly kiss on the cheek. He turned to Draco. "Hello, I'm Steve."

"Draco," Draco replied, shaking Steve's hand.

"Yes, Anna's mentioned you," Steve said. "She said you saved her and Hermione from drowning in the London downpour. Do you play football?"

"Er, no," Draco felt slightly embarrassed. He figured it would be the same as a wizard saying he didn't play Quidditch, which was an awful thing to admit. "Never played it."

"Never?" Anna looked gobsmacked. "Draco, you've _never_ even tried football?"

Hermione stepped in before Draco could admit he'd never so much as kicked a ball before. "Draco's parents were very overprotective," she said. "They never let him out, as you can see from his tan– or lack thereof. His mother preferred he play games where there's not much chance of falling down or getting dirty. And to stop Draco from even wanting to play football, they didn't have a television at home so he wouldn't even think about it."

The siblings looked shocked. "Well, that's just cruel," Anna managed to say, her jaw still hanging open.

"I know, tell me about it," Draco agreed, playing along. He glanced warningly at Hermione, who hid a self-satisfied smile. He didn't want her going overboard with the story.

"Well, why don't you join us anyway?" Steve asked. "If you're allowed to play, that is. We're a player down."

Draco shrugged, feeling the Felix Felicis still at work. "Sounds like fun." He and Steve went to go and meet the other players, while Hermione and Anna flopped down onto a picnic blanket.

Because it was just a casual game, there weren't as many rules to learn. Since there was only one ball and one goal, the game seemed more straightforward than Quidditch. Draco had never so much as touched a football before, but he scored twice in the first fifteen minutes. After that, his game began getting worse and worse, and he knew the liquid luck had run its course. Claiming exhaustion, he staggered to the picnic blanket where the girls were watching the game.

"You're quite fit for someone who's never played outdoor sports," Anna observed.

Draco smirked at her. "Fit, you say?"

"I mean, you've got stamina," she rolled her eyes. "Almost half an hour of solid running!"

"Well, I'm paying for it now, aren't I?" he was slightly put out to realize that he was, in fact, extremely tired. Granted, he hadn't played Quidditch in several months, but it was still difficult to concede that these Muggles could outrun him.

Hermione handed him a bottle of water from the ice box Anna had brought. He took it gratefully, resisting the urge to pour the cool liquid over his head despite the fact that it was the middle of October. Draco grimaced. He was hot and sweaty and he knew he didn't smell quite as fresh as he had half an hour ago. Hermione seemed to notice his discomfort. "It's a good thing you brought an extra shirt," she remarked. "You're soaked."

Draco raised an eyebrow, greedily gulping the water she had given. He _hadn't_ brought an extra shirt, something Hermione must have known, since he hadn't planned on playing football. She held up a dark green shirt and looked pointedly at him. Understanding, he finally stopped drinking and capped the bottle. "Yeah, my mum always said it's best to be prepared. Thanks." He took the shirt, frowning slightly, wondering why Hermione had transfigured one for him. Maybe she had done it before the Felix Felicis had stopped working. He was glad she did, because he didn't think he could have done it as surreptitiously as she, and he badly needed to change his sweat-soaked shirt.

"What's that tattoo on your arm?" Anna asked curiously. "It's an interesting design."

He flinched as she pointed out the Dark Mark. "Nothing," he muttered, hiding it from view. "Biggest mistake of my life."

"Were you drunk?" She smiled sympathetically. "I got a tattoo on my back when I was drunk. Just a small butterfly. Did your parents get mad?"

"No, I wasn't quite drunk," Draco looked uncomfortably at Hermione. "You know what my parents are like. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Oh, you rebelled," Anna laughed, mistaking his meaning. "Well, good on you! I can't believe your parents didn't allow you to play football, how awful!"

"You did quite well for someone who's never played before!" Hermione exclaimed, delicately shifting the topic. "Must be beginner's luck."

"Not luck!" Draco snapped defensively, wondering how she had guessed about the Felix Felicis. Hermione raised her brows questioningly, and he realized she hadn't guessed, but that perhaps 'beginner's luck' was a Muggle saying. "I mean... It was pure talent," he added boastfully.

Hermione snorted. "Yeah, right. I think Steve's friends are just awful."

"They can't be worse than a guy who's never played before."

"If they can't be worse than you, how can you be better than them?"

"It just means I'm better than other people who've never played before– I have enough natural talent not to need practice."

Anna sighed. "As much fun as it is to listen to you guys go at it all day," she said, interrupting them, "I have a question."

"You always have questions," Draco pointed out, lying back on the picnic blanket and squinting at the sky. "But that's okay, because Granger has all the answers."

Hermione rolled her eyes good-naturedly, looking somewhat flattered. "Anna's not usually this inquisitive, you know," she told him. "If she weren't dating Ron I'd think she fancied you!"

"It's just that I _never_ get to meet your school friends!" Anna pouted. "We've been friends for years but you never say anything about them. And anyway, my question does have to do with Ron. I told him that I met Draco, and Ron said some very nasty things."

Draco sat up again, scowling. "He would."

"What did he say?" Hermione asked, biting her lip worriedly.

"First he was absolutely shocked. I don't know why, but he seemed to think you never went to that part of London, Draco," Anna said. "And then he got quite angry, and told me to stay away from you– as you can see, I didn't pay him any attention. He couldn't give me a good reason! Seemed to think you were dangerous. He was quite mad at you, Hermione, since you didn't tell him about seeing Draco."

Hermione's face flamed– from embarrassment or anger, Draco couldn't tell. "It slipped my mind," she muttered.

"Anyway, I didn't listen to half of what he spluttered– did you know his face gets as red as his hair when he's mad?" Anna giggled. "But to get back to the point, I was just wondering _why_ you guys hate each other so much."

Draco looked at Hermione, allowing her to answer this one. She did so with a giant huff. "Ronald always did allow his feelings to cloud his judgment," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "He refuses to see that Draco isn't the prat he used to be, or the one we thought he was."

Anna glanced at Draco. "You were a prat?"

"A massive one. But with parents like mine, what would you expect?" He had no idea why he was being so open– maybe he was lonelier than he had realized, or maybe he had waited a long time to say this, to get it out. He wanted to defend himself, to say Ron only held a school-boy grudge, but he knew it wasn't true. He knew that Ron blamed him– or at least held him partially responsible– for Fenrir's attack on his brother, for Bellatrix's torture of Hermione, even for Fred Weasley's death. Draco couldn't quite fault the redhead for being mad about all of that. He wanted to explain, he wanted to apologize, but this wasn't the time or the place, and Draco wasn't sure if he had the courage, anyway.

Hermione shook her head. "A childhood rivalry that escalated into something like hatred. It was always Harry, Ron and I," she explained to Anna, "and Draco had his own friends. We weren't friends, not even close!"

"But you're friends now."

Draco and Hermione looked at each other. "Not _quite_ friends," Hermione said, and Draco nodded fervently.

"I'm just lucky Granger is more mature than Weasley– if I had bumped into Weasley instead, things might have turned ugly," he added.

"Let's talk about something else," Hermione suggested. "I hate thinking about how petty we all were."

"What film did you and Weasley end up seeing?" Draco turned to Anna.

"We decided not to go to the cinema, and we watched a DVD instead– Monsters Inc."

"Oooh, so cute!" Hermione squealed. "Boo is adorable!"

Draco nodded along as the two girls began gushing over the DVD. To his relief, Steve and the other boys ended their game and descended upon the picnic blanket like thirsty hippogryffs. Draco took advantage of Anna and Hermione's distraction to quickly change his shirt, something he had felt too self-conscious to do when he was alone with the two girls.

He hung around for another half-hour, listening carefully to the conversations and learning as much as he could from them. At eleven-thirty he tried to surreptitiously catch Hermione's attention. "I think I'm going to go," he said quietly, so that Anna couldn't persuade him to stay. "I'll walk around a bit more, maybe look at the zoo or something."

"Sure you don't want to stick around?"

Draco shook his head. "No, thanks. I think these Muggles are starting to find me really weird."

Hermione grinned, and he thought she looked a little relieved. "Maybe not _really_ weird. Just a little. You do know how to use the tube to get back, don't you?"

"I can Apparate. I just couldn't do it coming here, because I didn't know where Regent's Park was."

Just then Anna interrupted. "What are you two whispering about? It's rude." She pretended to look affronted.

Hermione laughed. "Yeah, like you weren't just gabbing away to Steve about your Aunt Philomena whom Malfoy and I have never met."

"Guilty as charged," Anna grinned. "So, what's with all the whispering?"

"I was just telling Granger that I have to get going," Draco said. "I still want to visit the zoo and see what else Regent's Park has to offer."

Her face fell. "Oh, all right. Maybe we'll see you next weekend!"

Draco shrugged. "Who knows?" He said goodbye to the others and left, holding his still-damp shirt until he was out of sight, when he was able to shrink and pocket it. He headed in the general direction of the zoo, stopping to grab some lunch. The afternoon was spent walking all around the zoo and the park, until his legs ached and his feet were sore, but after a month in confinement Draco tried not to take freedom for granted. He spent almost half an hour by the Boating Lake, watching the people in the boats enjoying themselves.

He returned to the Manor exhausted but contented. It was only after he had showered that he remembered the shirt Hermione had transfigured for him. He examined it carefully, trying to figure out what she had transfigured it from. He had to admit, she had exceptional spellwork.

"_Finite incantatem_."

Suddenly Draco had a book in his hands. _A Study in Scarlet_, by Arthur Conan Doyle. The author was unfamiliar to him, but it didn't matter. The mere fact that Hermione Granger had transfigured her own _book_, had given it to _him_, left Draco speechless. Everybody knew Hermione obsessed over books; to give up a book meant she either wasn't thinking when she transfigured it, or she didn't mind giving it to Draco.

There was a bookmark halfway through the book. Draco considered it; he thought about owling the book back to Hermione, or perhaps reading it first. Deciding it was short enough, he succumbed to temptation and brought the novel with him to the dinner table.

The next day, just before lunch, Draco finished the book. His head was still reeling at how Holmes had solved the mystery. He spent half an hour agonizing over what to put in his note to Hermione– he wanted to discuss it with her, but she hadn't finished it; to say how much he enjoyed it, but it sounded like (to him, at least) he was hinting that she should send him another one. In the end, Draco just said what he meant, and so when the owl took off only two words were on the note attached to its parcel. _Thank you_.


	5. Chapter 5

On Monday morning, Draco took out his bottle of luck. He held it up to the light, tilting it gently, admiring the fluidity of the golden liquid. He wanted to drink some, even just a drop, to make his Monday – or at least his Monday morning – more bearable. Perhaps even fun. Yes, he had limited supply and wanted to save it for weekends, but to have it on a Monday wouldn't hurt. Draco knew he was in danger of getting dependent, or addicted, to the potion, so perhaps it was a good thing that he only had one bottle of it. What difference would it make if he finished it in a few days, or a few weeks?

He sighed. No. Draco placed the bottle back in its cupboard and shut the door firmly. He'd exercise his self-control. It would be difficult, but already he could feel the beginning of addiction. It was best to nip it in the bud. With a regretful glance at the cupboard, he turned away and headed off to work.

This day was different. It wasn't like all the other Mondays Draco had dreaded. Maybe it was because he had such a great weekend, but even the thought of five days of mind-numbingly boring work in a tiny, cramped, windowless, _deskless_ office couldn't dampen his spirits that morning. The fact that he had triumphed over the lure of the potion just added to his good mood. At lunch he exerted himself to greet the serving ladies, even offering them a shy, somewhat forced smile. To his surprise, the ladies seemed pleased at his attempt and seemed slightly less cold, albeit a little suspicious, towards Draco.

If he had stopped to think about it, Draco might have realized that the kindness Hermione had shown him that weekend had affected him in a positive way, raising his spirits and making him keener to show kindness to others. The fact that someone _cared _– and Hermione lending him her book was the perfect example of someone caring – had gotten through to his subconscious in a way nothing else had. It was a subtle change, one Draco barely noticed, but he knew he was happier.

The week progressed in much the same manner as Monday. Draco finished reading _The Pureblood Idiot's Guide to Muggles_ and started _Muggle Myths: Fact or Fiction?_ by Emily Briggs. It was interesting to read about the advances Muggles had made in what they called technology. The myth that Muggles were primitive, uncivilized creatures was far from accurate. Briggs compared the scientific approach of Muggles that allowed them to conquer outer space and land on the moon to the ambitious but uninformed attempt of the Russian wizard Petrov to Apparate to the moon.

Each morning, Draco thought briefly about drinking some of his Liquid Luck, but each morning, he decided against it. It got easier to ignore it as the days went by, easier to realize he didn't need it. He felt so good about it that he decided to put off drinking it until Sunday, just to prove to himself that he could.

On Saturday, he dressed carefully for a visit to his parents. He was allowed to visit them once a month as long as he obtained prior permission from the Ministry. It was his first visit to Azkaban since he had left it; the Ministry had denied permission when he had applied for a visit two weeks after he had been released on the grounds that it might "negate the progress" Draco had made in fitting in with society.

As he waited for his parents to be brought to the visiting room, Draco stood by the barred window, looking out over the lake. It was difficult to believe he had left the prison just over a month ago and equally hard to believe he had spent as long as one _month_ in the prison. He couldn't imagine how he had gotten through it. It was dark and dirty, with the smell of mildew and poor hygiene. The Dementors weren't around anymore but they had left their mark, and Draco felt a sense of despair and hopelessness that made him want to leave, to run away without even seeing his parents.

The door opened and his parents were ushered in. They were overjoyed to see him, embracing him and anxiously asking him questions about his life in the outside world. Draco was happy to answer them, happy to dismiss his mother's fears and his father's doubts about their son's _job_.

"You look well," Narcissa said for the millionth time, the worried look in her eyes fading even further as she reassured herself yet again that Draco wasn't ill. "Are the house elves feeding you properly?"

"Yes, Mother," Draco sighed with fond exasperation. "Even the lunch at the Ministry refectory is better than tolerable. Minister Shacklebolt eats there himself, so the food _has_ to be good." He didn't want to add that his parents _didn't_ look well; his mother looked rather ill, but he supposed it couldn't be helped. The food in Azkaban wasn't _bad_ – he didn't think anything cooked by house elves was ever inedible – but with the sudden influx of prisoners after the war, it was in short supply.

"Draco," Lucius said, as if remembering something, "have you tried the potion?" He looked meaningfully at Draco, so Draco would understand.

Draco smiled. "Yes, Father. I drink a little each weekend. Thank you for it, it really helps, it gives me something to look forward to."

"I was hoping with it you could restore the family name," Lucius raised his eyebrows, as if daring Draco to say he had been using it for anything else. Draco reddened, well aware that he had been using it solely to make himself feel good.

_Fix it yourself_, he wanted to say. _Fix it yourself, because you broke it_.

His mother interrupted. "Lucius," she said reproachfully, "we gave it to Draco for his birthday so that he can be happy. He doesn't need it to restore the Malfoy honor, I'm sure he can do that himself, and that's something that can't be gotten with luck, you know. Respect needs to be earned." Draco was about to thank his mother, when she continued, "Perhaps we can ally ourselves with another family. The Greengrass family stayed out of the war and are quite respectable, Draco, although not nearly as old as the Malfoy and Black bloodlines. But you know Daphne and Astoria, don't you? Maybe a marriage between you and Daphne can be arranged."

"I don't want to marry Daphne!" Draco exclaimed, startled at the turn the conversation had taken. "And I'm only eighteen!"

"Astoria then, and you can have a long engagement." Lucius seemed pleased at the idea.

Draco gritted his teeth. "Father," he said carefully, trying not to let any anger or disrespect leak into his voice. He would only get to see his parents once a month, if he were lucky, and he didn't want to spend the time arguing. "I've just come out of prison. _Please_ let me enjoy freedom before you marry me off to some female I don't even like."

Lucius relented. "All right. But bear it in mind, Draco, start thinking about it."

"Yes, Father," he lied. As far as he was concerned, marriage could wait another ten or so years, as his parents probably wouldn't be able to attend his wedding, anyway.

The rest of the visit passed more peacefully, with Draco sharing the things he had been allowed to bring for his parents – books, blankets in case they got cold, and a bouquet of flowers picked by the house elves for their mistress. Draco had cast a Stasis Charm on them so they would last longer than usual, although it was impossible to keep them forever.

When the allotted visiting time was over, Draco regretfully said goodbye to his parents. As happy as he was to be leaving Azkaban, he had sorely missed his parents, and seeing them again was worth the discomfort of visiting the prison and the nightmares that the visit was sure to re-ignite.

It was with relief that Draco finally drank the Felix Felicis on Sunday. He hadn't slept well the night before – his dreams were often haunted by Azkaban, but last night's were the most vivid they had been since the first week after he'd left the prison. Draco only waited until ten in the morning before downing the potion, despite being unable to sleep again since sunrise. Ten was when most Wizarding establishments opened their doors on Sundays, and he expected the Muggle world to be no different.

After sipping the golden liquid, Draco grabbed his cloak and his wand and Disapparated to Diagon Alley. The weather had turned chillier during the last week, and the cloak served the double purpose of hiding the Muggle clothing he was wearing underneath. The street wasn't very crowded, not at ten on a Sunday morning, and it was a relief to finally slip inside Flourish and Blotts, away from the cold.

He headed straight to the Muggle Studies section, which was located near the back of the shop, as unpopular as it was. A glance through the shelves showed that he was the only customer, which suited him just fine. He didn't like being caught loitering in the Muggle Section – Malfoys still had certain standards to maintain, and he didn't think he could stand the scowls and glares after the awful night he had passed through. He picked up _Muggle Appliances: Muggle-ise Your Home!_ and began leafing through it, watching with fascination the moving diagram of a television set. It seemed a step above a wireless radio.

Only a few minutes had passed before a voice cut through his thoughts, startling him.

"Malfoy?"

He looked up, hastily hiding the book behind his back, before realizing that it was Hermione Granger who was standing in front of him. "Granger," he said, relieved. His cheeks turned slightly pink; not so much at being caught in the Muggle Studies section but at his reaction.

"This is what, the third weekend in a row? If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were stalking me!" she teased.

Draco chuckled. "But this time, Granger, I was here before you. Maybe _you're_ following _me_."

Hermione laughed. "Quite unlikely, Malfoy, I assure you. I saw a flash of blond hair and found you here. I have to say, I'm surprised at how interested you are in the Muggle world. It's one thing to use it as an escape, and another to thoroughly research it."

He shrugged, not wanting to go into his reasons. "I've got nothing better to do," he said disparagingly. They remained silent for a few moments, neither knowing what else to say.

Finally, Hermione shifted, rocking back and forth on her feet, looking hesitant. "Are you free for tea, Malfoy?"

Surprised, he nodded, vaguely wondering if the Felix Felicis _wanted_ him to meet her. He only ever saw her when he was under the influence of the potion, and now having tea with her felt like the best thing to do. Hermione had always seemed slightly reluctant to be with him when there was company, but here she was, inviting him to tea. It felt important. "Here?" he asked doubtfully. "I mean, in Diagon Alley? You don't mind being seen with..." he trailed off, but she understood.

"I couldn't care less what others think," she sniffed. "Though if you'd rather go to the Muggle world, I don't mind. We could go to Costa. They should be open by now."

"All right," he nodded, the Felix Felicis agreeing with his choice. He didn't feel like buying the book so he returned it and followed Hermione through the stacks.

Remembering that Hermione had classes at Hogwarts and was helping in the repair of the Hogwarts Library, Draco asked her for details. She seemed pleased that he had asked and happily recounted what she had been doing, her enthusiasm making it sound more interesting than Draco suspected it actually was. She paused just before leaving the Leaky Cauldron, trying to think of the nearest Costa, giving Draco time to transfigure his cloak into a jacket, before leading him to Old Compton Street. They paid for their drinks and selected a small table by the window.

"Did you like the Sherlock Holmes?" Hermione asked with a smile, once they were settled.

Draco nodded, his eyes lighting up. "It was brilliant! Have you finished it?"

She replied that she had, and that began a long discussion on literature – Muggle and Wizarding – that occupied most of Draco's 'Lucky Hour' and gave them both a deeper understanding and respect for each other.

"Granger, would you like to see a film later?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, but Draco found he didn't regret them. "If you're free, that is." He felt a little anxious that the luck potion wasn't strong enough for her to say yes, but he needn't have worried.

Hermione beamed. "There _is_ one movie – another word for film – that I'd love to watch," she said. "We're right near Leicester Square, we can check the movie times later."

"Good. It's nothing too... date-y, is it?"

"No, not at all. Friends watch together all the time, and family." She looked closely at Draco. "How are your parents? If you don't mind my asking," she added hastily. "I was just... wondering."

Draco frowned slightly, not quite liking the turn the conversation had taken. "I saw them yesterday," he said, "but to be honest, I can't tell you if they're fine or not. They're doing tolerably well – as well as anyone can be in _there_ –" she knew he was referring to Azkaban, "but anyone can see it's not good for them. They looked all right, but thinner." He hesitated, wondering why the luck potion made him feel that he should confide in her, that she could help. "I've been thinking of somehow supplying money, so the house elves in the kitchens can buy better food or ingredients. The quality is all right, but the quantity is too meagre. I thought that maybe, if the place just doesn't have enough funds, they'll be able to afford more nutritive food if I give them something."

Hermione seemed surprised by his idea. "That's a nice thought," she said, looking at the dregs of her tea, her face creased pensively. "Have you made any headway with it?"

"No," he said bitterly. "The bloody Ministry wraps everything in red tape, they make things so difficult. They seem to think I'm only doing it for my parents – while that's true, I'm also willing to help the other priso– the others, along the way. And I know that they're not supposed to be eating really well, or to be really comfortable, but the conditions are inhumane!"

He could see from her face that part of her believed the Death Eaters deserved that sort of treatment, but he also knew Hermione was more compassionate than that. "I know it's hard for you to be sympathetic," he continued, "but they're my parents."

"Of course," she said, guilty that he had caught the expression on her face. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." It was a lie, but he wished it to be the truth. It wasn't her fault he had been so irritable since his visit to Azkaban. It wasn't her fault that his parents were wasting away, and it certainly wasn't her fault that it had only sunk in _now_ that he would probably never see his father out of prison. Still, he couldn't help but channel his irritation and frustration out onto her, and anyone who spent enough time near him, really. Like that house elf who had offered to cook him lasagne, which was his and his mother's favourite.

He could see Hermione thinking rapidly, trying to think of a different topic. "You look... I mean-" she blushed scarlet, "I'm glad you weren't... hurt in Azkaban."

Draco lifted an eyebrow. "Have you ever been to Azkaban?" She shook her head. "Maybe you should go. Just once. That's all you need to discover that the worst kind of pain isn't physical." Hermione looked abashed, and he felt guilty. She had been trying to be nice, after all. He took a sip of cold tea to try to calm down. "The Dementors have gone," he added after a moment, as if trying to explain, "but they've left something behind. Despair... or maybe it's the prisoners themselves who have left their hopelessness, their sadness, in the very walls of Azkaban."

He had never spoken of his time in prison to anyone, but he knew he could talk to her. Her eyes were widened with the right amount of curiosity and compassion, just enough to make him continue.

"That affected me more than the starvation. I've always been a light eater," he explained, "but maybe it's also because my parents really believed they were doing the right thing, whereas I never did. I lacked the conviction. As a result, I felt more guilt." He didn't know why he was baring himself to her. Hermione Granger was an exceptional listener. "I thought things would be better once I was out of Azkaban, but... I mean, I'm grateful to be free, but things aren't quite like I had hoped they would be."

Hermione's fingers hesitantly brushed against his hand, and Draco stiffened, feeling a jolt at the contact. "It's okay. It'll get better," she said simply. Draco didn't know why, but he believed her.

Hermione had occupied much of his thoughts in the beginning of his stay at Azkaban, though he had stopped thinking of her so much after a few days. He had figured out that, even before she had testified for him, he didn't hate her. In fact, Hermione Granger was one of the few people whom he respected, and definitely the only witch his age whom he would rely on. He might even go so far as to say he trusted her. But for her to offer him comfort – Draco didn't think he deserved her. Not after everything that had happened. Not after everything he had done.

He licked his lips nervously. He wanted to apologize, to thank her – for what, he didn't know; he had long since thanked her for helping him at his trial. But those things, they required courage, noble hearts. Things Draco didn't have.

Something prompted him; it was worth a try, he felt. Did anyone need courage when they had luck?

"Granger," he started uncertainly, not sure of what to say, unsure of _how_ to say it. "I'm so–"

"You don't need to apologize, Draco. I don't need to hear it. The fact that you're here now, having tea with me in _my_ world, shows me, more than anything, how much you've changed. You're not the same boy. And I– I was hoping that maybe now, we can... forgive each other." Her cheeks turned pink as she said the last bit, looking up at him with a mixture of hesitance and defiance.

Draco took a deep breath. Was this what the Felix Felicis had been leading him to, the three times it had brought him to her? Forgiveness? A chance to start over, to start improving his life? A friend?

"Thank you," was all that he said, but somehow, it felt like enough.

Hermione smiled, looking relieved, and he grinned back.

"Should we see about that film?"

The day proceeded quite well until after the movie when Draco commented on how Muggles had all the luck in the world; they hadn't been forced into hiding and they had such things as cinemas and films and popcorn. Hermione immediately jumped to defend the Muggles.

"Wizards could enjoy them too, if they'd only stop being so narrow-minded."

"Narrow-minded?" Draco asked incredulously. "_They_ persecuted _us_! Forgive us for not caring enough to associate with them, at the risk of our _lives_."

She rolled her eyes. "Being burnt at the stake was hardly life-threatening, Wendelyn the Weird–"

"If you didn't have your wand and couldn't perform wandless magic, then it _was_ life-threatening. Not to mention, it was degrading."

"Well, it's hardly the fault of Muggles that wizards decided to degrade them first– if wizards had just used their powers for good, for helping Muggles instead of cursing them and bullying them, knowing they couldn't defend themselves, we would be living in peace! But instead, wizards had to go and take advantage of their powers. Who can blame the Muggles for fighting back?"

"Lower your voice," Draco hissed, glancing around them; they were still in Leicester Square, having just stepped out of the theatre. "Someone might hear you."

Hermione scoffed. "They wouldn't believe me anyway," she said, lowering her voice nonetheless, "because wizards have done such a good job of hiding themselves that instead of both sides mutually benefitting from magic _and_ technology, no one benefits at all."

"Surely you don't _want_ wizards to come out of hiding? They'll kill us!"

"Only because the divide is so great!" she argued. "Now it'll be a total surprise to Muggles, _now_ they'll think wizards are completely weird and dangerous, because they can't remember that we ever lived harmoniously!"

"I repeat, if they hadn't forced us to hide–"

"Maybe it was better that way," Hermione said suddenly, her voice full of bitterness, "because otherwise wizards would have subdued Muggles and, considering them as inferior, would have treated them as slaves, as house elves, as if they're not human."

"And looking at it another way, Muggles would have used wizards for their magic, treating _us_ as if we're not human!"

"Then that's something both sides have in common!"

They both glared at each other, ignoring the people who had to swerve around them to enter the cinema. Draco's gaze eventually shifted to a spot over Hermione's shoulder, and he realized it was a Burger King restaurant, similar to the restaurant he, Hermione and Anna had eaten in during his first trip to Muggle London.

"Fancy a late lunch?" he asked gruffly, not bothering to be polite.

"Sorry, but no," she replied coldly. "I'm meeting Harry and Ron."

Draco raised his eyebrows slightly, the only indication that he didn't believe her, and inclined his head slightly in dismissal. "Fine. I'll see you whenever, then."

"Fine," she echoed. "Goodbye, Draco." She turned to walk away.

"Bye, Granger." He watched with some satisfaction as she stiffened slightly at his continued use of her surname. Then she was swallowed by the crowd of Muggles in the square, and Draco left to find a good spot to Disapparate home.

After a late lunch hastily prepared by the house elves, Draco settled in his favourite sofa on the library and reached for his Pensieve. He sat for a few minutes with it on his lap, thinking of the memories he would place inside. The idea to copy his happier memories into a Pensieve had come to him the week before; it was also a good way to review what he had seen in the Muggle world.

The day had started off pleasantly enough – having tea with Hermione. Without consciously trying, Draco had earned her forgiveness. Granted, out of all the people he had wronged, Hermione probably wasn't the hardest person to obtain forgiveness from – her propensity to hold grudges seemed to war with and lose to her compassion for people (or creatures) put down by others. It had been difficult to talk to her about his parents, but he didn't regret it.

Thinking about Hermione made him grin. He remembered sitting beside her in the cinema, listening to her suppressed gasps and amused chuckles. Once or twice she'd said "tuh!" and Draco could have sworn he heard her rolling her eyes. After the movie, they had argued, but he didn't mind. It had been liberating to fight with her, to debate and have his opinions refuted because of what they were, not because of _whose_ they were.

Draco raised his wand to his temple and extracted a memory. Once it was inside the Pensieve, he swirled his wand, and Hermione's face smiled up at him.

She had a nice smile, he conceded. If it made him feel like smiling in return, well, it just meant that her smile was infectious. Draco gazed at her for a few moments before returning to his task of copying memories.

He tried not to think about how disappointed he was that Hermione hadn't wanted to join him for lunch. She hadn't mentioned a previous engagement with Potter and Weasley, so he was sure that, if one existed, it had been for dinner and not for the afternoon. He was disappointed but not insulted; he knew that she had declined lunch out of anger, and not unwillingness to spend time with him. He added the memory of their argument to the Pensieve. It had been a pleasant sort of adrenaline rush, one not caused by terror or anxiety. Arguing with Hermione was one of the things he hadn't realized he'd missed.

It was quite amazing to think that they hadn't quarreled since before Azkaban, but when Draco thought about it, he realized that he had usually been under the influence of the Felix Felicis potion, or they had been in the company of other people. He wondered if the potion had meant for him and Hermione to become friends, and concluded that, since they _had_ become friends, it was probable that the potion had intended it.

Resolving not to think too much about things he couldn't control, Draco shook his head and returned to transferring memories.

A/N: This chapter is slightly longish- we regret to say that the next one is rather short! But we'll just try to not make you wait so long between chapters. :D Also, we have to warn you guys, this fic is almost finished! Yeah, hard to believe at this point, things have just gotten started. But we're about halfway done, now! Still have several more chapters to go, we're just giving out a warning in case anyone's expecting a fic of epic proportions. :) Draco only has a finite amount of Felix Felicis, after all!


	6. Chapter 6

The next week, Draco had a meeting with Jenny Bates, the court-approved social worker who was supposed to check that he was properly re-integrating himself into society. She visited his work place, made no comment over the tiny space and interviewed him standing up. Yes, he missed his parents but no, not enough to think of joining them in Azkaban. Yes, work was tedious, but Draco realized he had to do it. He hadn't wanted to admit that he spent his free time in the Muggle world and so contented himself with saying that he spent it reading. Sherlock Holmes. Yes, he was aware that it was written by a Muggle. No, he did not want to kill Holmes for being a Muggle.

It was, all in all, the strangest interview Draco had ever had. Bates reminded him somewhat of Loony Lovegood, only less amusing. He resolved to tell Hermione about it when he saw her, because it was the sort of thing she would enjoy. Then he wondered why he wanted to make her smile, anyway.

He saw her a couple of times over the next few weekends. Seeing her was the one constant brought about by the Felix Felicis. Once he had seen her in the National Gallery – he was there out of interest (and a compulsion); she was there to research magical and Muggle paintings. The next weekend he had decided to stay in the magical world, choosing to attend a Quidditch match instead. It wasn't strictly fair to use the Felix Felicis at a match, so Draco took it in the early morning. He estimated that it would be enough to get him through the crowds and to his seat without causing any trouble, but not enough to affect the outcome of the game. He hadn't counted on sitting right in front of Hermione, but when she tapped him on the shoulder with a big smile on her face, Draco couldn't have been happier to see a friendly face.

"Can I join you?"

He nodded, and she climbed over the seats to take one of the empty ones beside him – people still gave him a wide berth, even if the rest of the stadium was quite full. "You're not with anyone?"

"I was supposed to meet Harry and some others, but I came a bit late and they weren't able to save me a seat," she explained. "I don't mind. I can hardly study when I watch with them."

"Study?" Draco asked incredulously. Then he chuckled. "I don't know why I'm surprised. But I'm warning you, Granger, I've just made it my mission to make sure you don't get to study a single word during this match. Isn't Weasley playing?"

"Yes. But there are lulls in Quidditch, as in every sport."

"When are there _lulls_ in Quidditch?"

"When the Snitch isn't out."

Draco gaped at her. "So you don't care about the Chasers, Keepers or Beaters?"

"Beaters? Who are they?" she asked innocently, before dissolving into laughter at the look on Draco's face. "I'm kidding. Of course I care about them. But one never knows how long a match will last, and sometimes I get bored. It's best to be prepared." She lifted up a book that looked like it was easily eight hundred pages.

"What book is that?" he asked, reaching out a hand. "Borrow?"

"_The Science and Magic of Healing_. It's fascinating." Hermione passed it to him.

"I'm sure it is," Draco smirked, placing the book on the empty seat on his other side, hiding it under his cloak. Hermione rolled her eyes good-naturedly, knowing getting it back was a lost cause.

"Give it back if the game gets boring," she said sternly, and turned her attention to the pitch, where the players were just about to take their places. True to his word, Draco kept her sufficiently distracted throughout the one-and-a-half hour game, and when Hermione left to join her friends for a post-match celebration, she hadn't read a word of her eight-hundred page book.

There were a few weekends when Draco didn't venture out of the house. He didn't take the Felix Felicis, carefully preventing himself from getting dependent on the potion. To pass the time, he tried writing letters to his former friends. Goyle was still in Azkaban and Pansy never replied, but Blaise did, a week and a half later. He was in Italy now, he wrote, where his family had returned to escape the aftermath of the war. He wished Draco all the best in his future endeavors.

It was a concise, detached note, but it didn't sadden Draco as much as he thought it would. Slytherins were known for networking, not for close friendships. Once or twice when there was an interesting point in a book he was reading, he felt like writing to Hermione, but he wasn't sure how his letter would be received. Draco tried not to think about how much he thought about her, because whenever he did, he was always surprised.

November passed by quickly – the months seemed to melt away when one was counting by the number of weekends. Draco rather thought his interview with Jenny Bates went better than his first; at least she didn't accuse him of wanting to kill a fictional Muggle character. Soon it was the start of the Christmas season. He spent one rather enjoyable afternoon shopping with Hermione in Diagon Alley. He didn't have many people to buy for, whereas she had a houseful of Weasleys and their various offspring, as well as a hoard of other Gryffindors on her Christmas list. Draco didn't think he was much help, except for carrying her bags.

Christmas Day was spent with his parents in Azkaban. Draco was pleased to see his parents looking slightly healthier than when he had last seen them. He thought at first that his letter to the Ministry had done the trick – the possibility was slim at best – but then his parents said that Harry Potter had something to do with it. Draco wondered if it had anything to do with his previous conversation with Hermione, but he didn't mention it to his parents. Lucius seemed disappointed to discover that Draco hadn't so much as contacted the Greengrass sisters. Draco promised to send them a Christmas card, and then, without thinking about it, proceeded to tell his parents about his friendship with Hermione. Luckily, he caught himself before he spilled any details.

Lucius was disgusted. "_This_ is how you've been spending your time? Draco, she's Muggle-born. Nothing she does can change that fact. Not grades, friends, or wealth can make her worth your time."

Draco flared up. "Sometimes I wonder why I'm worth _her_ time, Father! At least she's studying, and in a few months she'll have her NEWTs! Sometimes I wonder why she bothers with a former Death Eater, someone who's just come out of Azkaban and has no prospects for the future." Already he heartily regretted telling his parents that he occasionally saw Hermione Granger on weekends.

"You _would_ have a future, if you contacted those Greengrass girls."

Narcissa looked thoughtful. "Maybe this is a good thing, Lucius. Befriending Ms. Granger can only benefit Draco's image."

Draco scowled, but didn't say anything while his parents discussed it. Why couldn't he befriend Hermione just because? He was – he hated to admit it – lonely, and she was his closest friend.

Eventually, Narcissa seemed satisfied, and Lucius looked convinced, though reluctant. "All right, Draco, you may continue your acquaintance with Ms. Granger," Narcissa said. Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes and point out that he would see her regardless of whether or not he got their permission. "Just take care that you don't fall in love with her."

"_Mother_!" Draco turned a violent shade of red, flushed with embarrassment. "Why would I – I mean, she's _Granger_." That the idea made his stomach flip pleasantly was beside the point.

She smiled knowingly, teasingly. "I know you, Draco. You're halfway there."

"Mother!" he protested again, shooting an alarmed glance at his father. Lucius said nothing, simply casting his son a disapproving glance.

"She makes you happy, I could see it when you spoke of her. And you sounded rather bitter when your father demeaned her," Narcissa said. "While I'm glad that you're looking for something else in a wife other than money and blood, don't mistake companionship and friendship for love."

_Wife?_ "Mother, maybe _you_'re mistaking companionship and friendship for love. Yes, Granger makes me happy, she's currently my only – and therefore by default my best – friend. But I don't love her. I don't wish to marry her."

"Let's talk about something else, shall we?" Lucius cut in. "I don't want to spend Christmas Day talking about a Mudblood."

Draco pursed his lips, trying to get a rein on his temper before obligingly turning the subject. He too had heard enough abuse of Hermione for one day, and he had no desire to argue further with his parents at Christmas. As exasperating as they could be sometimes, he wouldn't trade them for the world.

**A/N:** Hey all! Before anything else, thanks again for all your reviews and everything. We're really pleased you're enjoying the story! After this chapter we've got three more to go. Apologies for this short one; it seemed a good place to end the chapter.

We're going on a little holiday, so we won't be able to reply to reviews – we'll try though, if we get Internet access! – or post the next chapter. Again, we'll post the next chapter if we find a place with Internet access. If not, the next one will be up in about two weeks. Sorry! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: We're still on holiday, but now we can post! Still might not be able to reply to reviews unfortunately – thanks so much for all the reviews to the last chapter! :) We're glad you enjoyed it, though it was short. And thanks for wishing us a good holiday, this has been great!**

_He was back in Azkaban, visiting his father. Lucius looked well – much better than he had the last time Draco had seen him, and they were chatting about Quidditch. Draco was laughing at something Lucius said when he noticed his father's features begin to change. He could only stare in shock as the elder Malfoy seemed to become gaunter and thinner by the second, until all that was left was a skeleton._

_"Father?" he asked, his heart pounding, fear washing over him in waves. "Father!"_

_Draco blinked, and his father was seemingly back to normal – at least for a few seconds. Then the process repeated itself, and Draco watched in horror. When the third cycle started, Draco lunged forward and embraced Lucius, savouring the seconds that his father was more alive than dead. Panicking, he asked where his mother was._

_"She's gone on ahead," Lucius said, and Draco could feel him wasting to bones in his arms._

_"I'm here," Narcissa said from the corner of the cell._

_Draco turned to look at her, and he had to choke back a sob. She was a ghost._

Draco awoke with a start, bolting upright in bed. He drew in loud, gasping breaths and didn't even bother to wipe away the tears falling freely down his cheeks. He glanced around the darkness of his room, as if he'd see the ghosts of his parents. Slowly, he lay back down, curling up onto his side and clutching a pillow. He could still feel the effects of the nightmare, could still feel the loss of his parents.

He could practically feel Lucius turning into a skeleton even as he held him in his arms. He felt the loss not just once, but over and over. The very thought of it brought on sobs with even more intensity. He wished, more than anything, that he was a child again, and that his parents would hear him crying from his nightmare and come to comfort him.

But he wasn't a child, they couldn't hear him, and they weren't coming. It was a long time before Draco could fall asleep again.

It felt like he had only slept for a few minutes when his alarm rang, waking him again. He opened his eyes blearily, switched off his alarm, and lay back in bed. His eyes felt puffy and swollen, and his nose was stuffed. Draco briefly contemplated calling in sick, but decided against it. He didn't want anyone saying he shirked his duty – it would only bring his reputation down further – and he needed to save his sick days for days when he really was ill. With a huge groan, he forced himself to get up, and headed to the bathroom where he proceeded to wash his face several times. He hoped no one would notice that he had been crying.

It was just before he started making coffee that the idea came to him. What if, instead of coffee, he took his lucky potion? It would have added benefits aside from keeping him awake. He briefly wondered if he'd see Hermione, but decided that since it was a weekday, she'd be at Hogwarts. It would be interesting to see what luck would fall his way that didn't include her. It would be an experiment of sorts. Draco deliberated for a few minutes more, then he caved into the temptation. After the horrible night he had had, a bit of Felix Felicis sounded like a reward. Besides, he hadn't had any since before Christmas. It was the first day back at work for the new year, and maybe a lucky first day would make the rest of the year lucky too.

He took a sip just before Flooing to the Ministry. Draco decided to take the longer route to the office, the potion somehow prompting him to do so. In front of him was a hassled looking woman, carrying several scrolls of parchment and half-running to the lifts. He saw her drop one, and quickly stooped to retrieve it.

"Wait," he called out, just as she stepped into a lift, "you dropped this."

"Merlin! Thanks a lot," she said gratefully, when Draco slipped through the doors and into the lift with her. "How clumsy of me."

"You're carrying a lot, do you need any help?" he offered.

"No, it's fine, if you could just put that scroll you're holding on top of my pile..."

Draco laughed. "Don't worry, I'll walk you to your office. It's not a bother, really."

"Thanks!" There it was again, that grateful look. Draco hadn't seen it directed at him for a long time. It was nice to know that someone other than Hermione could talk to him civilly.

When Draco made it back to his tiny cramped room, he attacked the shelves with renewed vigour. He felt that he accomplished more in half an hour than he normally did in a whole morning. Pleased with his progress, he decided to take a short break. With a sigh, he made himself as comfortable as possible in the little space that he had, and closed his eyes. The next thing he knew, his boss was yelling at him.

"Malfoy! MALFOY!"

Draco opened his eyes and was immediately awake, and for a split second he wondered if the Felix Felicis had worn off while he had been sleeping. His thoughts were quickly diverted, however, when his boss continued ranting.

"Is this what you do all day? No wonder no work gets done! I really ought to check on you more, since you obviously can't be expected to work without supervision. Malfoy, I shall have to report this, you know. But I knew you'd mess up, I just knew it. Sleeping on the job! Oh my. This is perfect."

"Why is he on the floor? You didn't give him a desk? Or a _chair__?_"

It was only then that Draco realized there was someone standing behind his boss, and that someone was Hermione. Quickly, he jumped to his feet.

"Doesn't deserve one, right Ms. Granger?" his boss replied smugly. "He deserves a lot less than this. He deserves to be in Azkaban still."

"So you purposely make life hard for him?" Hermione asked, smiling. Draco narrowed his eyes at her, but she ignored him.

"Oh yes, Ms. Granger! Right from the beginning. "

It was obvious that Draco's boss knew of the animosity between Draco and Harry Potter and his friends. He seemed to be deluded into thinking that Hermione would approve of his efforts to make Draco suffer. Draco eyed Hermione, wondering what she was thinking. He was pretty sure she would stick up for him, but he didn't really know what the consequences would be.

"Mr. Moore," Hermione said, her voice suddenly frosty, and the smile replaced by a cold glare, "you seem to think that I dislike Draco intensely. I understand where you may have gotten that impression, but let me tell you that it is completely wrong. I am _not_ pleased that you are making him work on the floor."

"But Ms. Granger, he deserves–"

"What he deserves has been decided by the Wizengamot. You are in no position to say whether it was fair or not. Or do you consider yourself to be above the Wizengamot?"

"No, but–"

"I didn't think so." Hermione glanced at Draco and back at the cowering wizard. "I know you will rectify this problem as soon as possible."

"Yes, Ms. Granger," Mr. Moore said reluctantly. He obviously didn't want to cross the most influential young woman in the country, but he didn't like the idea of taking orders from a teenager either.

"Good." Hermione turned to Draco. "If you can find the files for Monica and Wendell Wilkins, I'd like to have them, please."

"Of course," Draco replied eagerly, wanting to show that he wasn't as incompetent as his boss made him out to be. "But – standard procedure – I have to ask what your relationship is to them."

"They're my parents."

He tried not to look surprised. Wilkins? He hadn't known Hermione was adopted. And he hadn't known that her parents had gone missing during the war. "All right," he said reluctantly, wanting to ask more but not daring to while Mr. Moore was watching. Draco turned to the shelves and rifled through the parchment, quickly finding the files of the Wilkins'. While he was searching, Hermione struck up a conversation with Mr. Moore about what could be done to improve Draco's office.

"It could be a bit bigger," Draco heard her say, "after all, it's not like the Ministry is short on space. The files are likely to be here for at least ten years before being moved to the Archives, so it's best to fix the office while Draco's here to arrange everything. Before he leaves, he'll have to train someone, as well."

"Of course." Mr. Moore agreed through clenched teeth.

"Fantastic. So that's an expansion of the room, a desk, a chair – a window might be nice, but it's not a necessity. Oh, a fireplace, so people can Floo in with their requests for files. It is quite difficult, to have to come here in person." Hermione sounded pleased. "Is there anything else you need, Draco?"

"Er, no, nothing," he replied, walking over to her and handing her the files she had requested.

"Great. That'll be all then, thank you." It took both men several moments to realize that she was talking to Mr. Moore. The man sputtered a little, before holding out his hand to shake Hermione's.

"Thank you for visiting, Ms. Granger. I hope to see you again in the future." Mr. Moore turned to Draco. "I'll see you tomorrow about the improvements." It came out sounding more like a threat, and Draco scowled.

"Great. Now he hates me," he said grumpily, once Mr. Moore was out of earshot.

Hermione rolled her eyes, opening one folder. "Don't be ridiculous. He's always hated you." She seemed annoyed at his reaction.

"All right, he may have hated me, but he didn't resent me. Now he'll make my life even more hellish."

"Well, you might as well get something out of it. You'll thank me later. Sitting on the floor isn't hygienic at all."

Draco huffed and decided not to reply, instead leaning against the shelves and folding his arms over his chest as he watched her read. Several moments later, he finally asked, "What's with your parents?"

"Nothing."

"I didn't realize you were a Wilkins. Are you adopted? Or did your parents divorce and your mother remarry or something?"

"No."

Exasperated, Draco gave in. "All right. I'm grateful that you managed to get me not only a chair and a desk, but probably a fireplace and maybe even a window as well."

She sniffed haughtily. "You're just saying that because you want to find out about my parents."

"I'm saying it because I mean it."

She sniffed again, but evidently decided that he was sincere, because she relented. "All right. I suppose I'll have to tell you anyway. I've come here to close their files. I've found them." Hermione couldn't stop the grin that spread across her face as she said it.

"That's great!" Draco exclaimed, happy for her. "I didn't know your parents went missing," he said, feeling guilty. All these times they had seen each other, he'd never thought to ask about the safety of her family. "It's a good thing they're safe. Not to be... I mean, if you don't mind my saying it, I'm surprised the Death Eaters didn't kill them."

Her smile slipped a little. "The Death Eaters never found them. I hid them." Hesitantly, after swearing him to secrecy, Hermione told him her story of how she had altered her parents' memories and sent them to Australia to protect them from the war. She hadn't been able to find them before the term at Hogwarts had started, but that didn't stop her from continuing her search. She'd eventually found them using something Muggles called 'Facebook'.

"My parents aren't very pleased that they've lost over a year of their lives – having spent it as Monica and Wendell – but they know I wouldn't have done it unless it was absolutely necessary," Hermione said. "They've forgiven me. Maybe now that I've found them, I can forgive myself."

Draco was surprised. "But you saved them. What's there to forgive?"

"I'm just lucky it all worked out all right. But what if it hadn't? What if they'd still been captured, or what if I had died, or what if the spell had gone wrong and they'd never have been able to regain their old personalities? What if when I reversed the spell, they hated me?"

"But it worked out fine," Draco said. He hesitated before continuing, saying what was on his mind. "I'm lucky too, that everything worked out. If the Dark Lord had killed my parents because I couldn't kill Dumbledore, I would hate myself even more than I do now. And if he killed them even if I had managed to kill Dumbledore... I think the self-loathing would've been unbearable." He gave her a small smile. "I guess things are relatively all right, then." He'd never thought of it that way before. That things had turned out as well as they possibly could.

"We've both had to do things to protect our parents," Hermione told him. "Imagine how hypocritical it would be for me to try to forgive myself without forgiving you."

There it was, the answer to his question. Why she had forgiven him. It made sense. Draco couldn't judge her – didn't want to judge her – for what she had done, just like she didn't judge him for what _he_ had done.

She filled up the rest of the forms and handed them back to him. Draco placed them with the files, ready to be sent to the Aurors.

They both looked at each other for a few awkward moments, before Hermione cleared her throat and tucked her pen back into her bag, "I suppose I'll see you again... wherever," she said, smiling slightly.

Draco nodded. "I suppose so. And, Granger..." he gestured to the office behind him. "Thanks."

Her smiled widened. "You're welcome."


	8. Chapter 8

Draco walked quickly, his hands stuffed in his pockets in an attempt to warm them. It was a wet, miserable day, perfect for spending at a museum. Draco had chosen the Science Museum in South Kensington because of a recommendation in one of his Muggle Studies books. The book had given explicit instructions on how to reach the museum, so it was with a certain degree of confidence that Draco took the tube and walked from South Kensington station through the underpass. The sip of Felix Felicis he had taken that morning hadn't hurt either.

He gazed around him as he walked, taking note of the signs. He also looked carefully at the faces of the passersby, not quite knowing – or willing to admit – what he was looking for. If he was slightly disappointed not to have seen Hermione on the tube, it was only because he had been expecting to see her, not hoping to see her. Or so he told himself.

He was craning his neck to spot the owner of the bushy hair he'd just seen when someone moved to stand in front of him, causing Draco to crash into her.

"Surprise!" Anna grinned, seemingly unfazed by the fact that he had nearly knocked her over. "I'm glad I saw you. Penny for your thoughts?"

"Er– what?" Draco asked, still slightly dazed to see her. He knew he shouldn't be surprised – this stroke of good luck was obviously due to the potion – but he wished he hadn't walked right into her.

"You seem distracted," she said. "I was just wondering what you were thinking about. Or are you looking for something?"

"Sorry, I was just – hoping I... hadn't missed the Science Museum," he said hastily. "I've never been before."

"Ron's never been either," Anna informed him motioning, to Draco's horror, to her companion. He hadn't seen the redhead standing quite a bit away from them, a scowl on his face and his shoulders hunched, as if the pair of them had an incredibly contagious disease.

Draco nodded in acknowledgment. "Weasley."

Ron grunted in response, scowling even more than before. "Come on, Anna, we're going to be late."

Instead of moving, Anna looked at Draco. "Are you sure you want to go to the Science Museum first? We're going to the Victoria and Albert Museum, then we'll do the Science Museum if we have time. Hermione will be with us, she's the perfect guide, don't you think? I'm sure she knows everything there is to know about _everything_, and she wouldn't mind you coming along, I think."

Draco's heart leaped at the mention of her name. Nevertheless, he hesitated, glancing at Ron. "I wouldn't want to intrude on your, ah, Gryff- I mean-" he stopped, unsure of how to explain to Anna that he wouldn't be welcome. "Will Potter be there?"

"And Ron's sister, Ginny," Anna nodded. "See? Harry and Ginny, Ron and I... Hermione won't have anyone to walk with, really. You could pair up with her."

Ron made a sound deep in his throat, causing Anna to stare at him. "Did you _actually_ growl?" she asked, astonished but unyielding.

"Can I talk to you for a bit?" he asked her, shooting a venomous glance at Draco. The blond shrugged and moved a few feet away to give them privacy.

A day full of Gryffindors wasn't precisely what he wanted, but it might be good. At any rate, Hermione would be there – when did he start thinking about her so much, anyway? When did she start to matter? She was fun to be with, and he probably wouldn't venture so much into the Muggle world if it wasn't for her, but that didn't mean he had to suffer through a day with Potter and two Weasels just to see her.

Unless his mother was right. It was something he wasn't willing to admit just yet.

Then again, it might be fun, he supposed, to see the look on Ginny Weasley's face when he showed up. After what she had done at his trial, bringing up the time he had attempted to cast the Cruciatus on Potter, he was sure she'd be loathe to have him join their little group. It would ruin her day, and Draco couldn't think of anything more fun than that. He'd been nice for far too long.

Anna joined him. "Ron says you can come," she said, "as long as you don't do anything prat-ish. But don't worry, he'll behave too. Now let's go, we're already late!" She started down the passage.

Draco and Ron followed her. "I don't know what you're playing at, Ferret–" Ron started, when he saw that Anna was sufficiently ahead of them and out of earshot, "but if you think you can use the Muggle world to show how reformed you are–"

"Weasley," Draco interrupted, "I'm sorry about your brother." It wasn't what he intended to say, and Ron looked as shocked as he felt, but he found he didn't regret saying it. The Felix Felicis was prompting him to continue, so he did. "I didn't know Fenrir was going to come into the school. Had I known... But I had to do it, to save my parents. And I was sorry to hear about Fred. He was... one of the few Gryffindors I admired." Draco took a deep breath, glad to get the confession off his chest. "I won't apologize for Aunt Bella. You can't choose your relatives."

Ron's skin color changed slightly, from an angry red to a more subdued flush. He didn't say anything but walked faster to catch up to Anna. Draco stayed behind the two of them, almost sure that something had changed between himself and the redhead.

The three of them entered the main lobby, looking around to spot their friends. "There they are," Draco pointed, spotting Hermione. But his gaze was fixed on the redhaired woman standing next to her. He smirked as he approached, waiting for her to see them.

Hermione saw them first. "Draco!"

He glanced at her, but not before seeing the look of surprise, followed by disgust and anger, on Ginny Weasley's face. Draco felt a sense of vindication. "Granger, I'll have you know that I'm _not_ following you. I was heading towards the Science Museum when Anna found me and dragged me here instead."

"Oh, like you needed that much persuading," Anna rolled her eyes, joining them. "I didn't _drag_ you. It was Ron who had to be convinced."

Hermione laughed. "I can imagine. I'm glad you convinced him." She sent Ron a grateful look. He shrugged back, looking resigned.

Behind Hermione, Harry cleared his throat. "Hi, Anna. Malfoy." After a moment's hesitation, Harry extended his hand. Draco shook it without a second thought, although the significance of the moment wasn't lost on him. Hermione beamed at them.

"Harry!" Ginny hissed, looking furious.

"Hello, Ginny," Draco said pleasantly. He tried not to smirk, aware that an almost-genuine, somewhat-friendly smile would infuriate the redhead further.

"What are you doing here?"

"Anna invited me."

"No, I mean, _here_," she said pointedly, and Draco figured she was referring to the Muggle world.

"Here?" he clarified politely. "Why wouldn't I–"

"In _this_ part of London."

He raised an eyebrow and gave her a bewildered, slightly condescending look. "I think I can choose where I want to spend my time."

"Shouldn't you be doing community service, or something? Making up for your past crimes?" Ginny asked scathingly.

Anna frowned. "Why–"

"Don't mind them," Ron intervened, aware that Anna might begin to ask questions they couldn't answer. "Like I said, we don't have the best history with Malfoy."

Anna looked like she wanted to ask more questions, so Hermione stepped in. "I'll tell you later," she whispered, buying them all time to think of a cover story. "Shall we start the tour? We've got a lot to cover," she said excitedly. She started towards one of the exhibition rooms, and Draco fell into step beside her, not wanting to be stuck beside Anna, who was sure to ask questions, and Ginny, who was sure to start a fight.

"Did you _have_ to push all her buttons like that?" Hermione asked him, although she looked faintly amused. "You know she wanted you to fight back."

Draco shrugged, finally allowing himself to smirk. "She's still a kid," he said dismissively, knowing that Ginny was only a year younger than him, and knowing equally well that she could probably hear him. "She'll mature eventually."

Hermione stifled a laugh. "Stop. Let's get through this day without anyone hexing anyone else and the Statute of Secrecy still in place."

They walked through the rooms with Hermione acting as their unofficial museum guide. Eventually the others lost interest and would drift around to look at other pieces while Hermione explained a particular item, but Draco, being the group's authority on the Wizarding counterparts of what Hermione was discussing, would add tidbits of knowledge about Wizarding culture, speaking in an undertone and only after a careful glance at the Muggles, including Anna, around them. He conceded defeat, however, once the group walked into the jewelry room. The girls burst into raptures, while the boys gave a cursory glance around the room and looked bored.

It was Harry's chance to speak to Draco. "Hermione said you're interested in the Muggle world," he started conversationally. "I didn't realize you were this serious – going to museums and all."

Draco shrugged. "It seemed like the perfect day for it. I was heading to the Science Museum, but Anna caught me."

"We might go there later, if we've got time." Harry looked at him curiously, but refrained from asking why Draco had taken such a liking to a world he used to loathe. Draco thought the Gryffindor had already figured it out. "What floor are you on, in the Ministry? Ron and I never bump into you."

"The new one, the one for the war." The Ministry had opened a new floor specifically for issues relating to the war. It was a depressing floor, one many Ministry employees tried to avoid. "You and Weasley are in Auror training?" Draco glanced at Ron, inviting him to join their conversation. The Felix Felicis had worn off hours ago, but Draco felt confident enough to go without his usual mask of disdain and aloofness. Conversation was stilted, perhaps a little too polite, but it was a start.

-0-0-

The next week was different from the previous ones. To Draco's consternation, he found his mind constantly drifting to Hermione. He had placed his memories of the entire day in the museums into the Pensieve, but it hadn't helped him to clear his head. Every sound outside the door to his small office had him glancing up; it was only when he realized he was holding his breath, hoping it would be _her_, that he consciously forced himself to stop. It wouldn't do to wait for Hermione. He would only see her if he drank Felix Felicis.

But as to why he wanted to see her – Draco himself couldn't say. Or rather, wouldn't admit it, even though he couldn't ignore it. It seemed all too new, all too sudden, and he was afraid. They had just barely become friends, after seven years of enmity. Even if she didn't hate him, she was still Hermione Granger, the famous "good girl", whereas he was Draco Malfoy, the social outcast, the Death Eater, the one nobody wanted to sit next to or be seen talking to. Hermione would probably never see him as anyone she could have a future with.

And then there were his parents to think about. His parents, who expected him to marry one of the Greengrass sisters, or any other witch, as long as she was a Pureblood and of good standing in society.

Draco sighed. The same thoughts had been running in his head all week. Stuck in his little office with not much to think about, it was enough to drive him crazy. He wasn't even sure if his sudden fancy for Hermione was even real or if perhaps it was the natural consequence of her having shown him some kindness.

Something happened on Thursday which changed Draco's usual routine. He had just bought his food at the Ministry cafeteria and was looking around for an empty table when he caught Harry Potter looking at him from the far end of the room. Potter and Weasley were sitting with a few other trainees from the Auror department. Draco hesitated only briefly, knowing he wouldn't be welcomed by the other trainees, and nodded his greeting to Potter before heading to a table in the corner that was almost empty. Potter gave an acknowledging grin, and Draco felt relieved to know that the last weekend hadn't been just a fluke.

The next day was even more unusual – Draco had just started eating when Harry, followed by a rather reluctant Ron, approached. "Mind if we join you, Malfoy?"

Surprised, Draco shook his head. "Feel free."

"Thanks." If Harry was aware that the entire cafeteria had fallen silent, he did an admirable job of not showing it. "Is the lasagna good?" he asked, pointing at Draco's plate.

"Delicious, as usual," Draco said. "I don't see you two here that often."

"We're usually on the training field," Harry explained. "But now we're learning a bit more about the legal side – the paperwork side – so we're based a bit more in the Ministry."

Draco nodded. It made sense. He looked at Ron. "How's Anna?" He really wanted to ask about Hermione, but found he couldn't.

"Same. I'm seeing her tomorrow. We're trying to figure out where to go." Ron held up a small black rectangle. "Just when I think I'm getting used to this thing, I come to the Ministry and find out that the magic interferes with it. I can't receive her messages."

"Is that a Muggle mobile phone?" Draco asked interestedly. "It's so small!" It was hard to believe that Muggles could communicate – could send short letters, even pictures and videos – through such a tiny box. Wizards were near useless without a convenient Floo or owl, although Hermione had come up with the magical Galleons and the Order had used Patronuses. Those sorts of spells weren't necessarily performed by the average witch or wizard. Muggles, on the other hand, had mobile phones, regular phones and electronic mail, in addition to their usual postal service. "Can I... Can I borrow it?"

"Near useless in here," Ron said disgustedly, handing the phone to Draco. "I'll have to ask Hermione if she can fix it so it works even with the magical field. Maybe she can do it on Sunday."

"You're not seeing her tomorrow?" Draco kept his eyes firmly on the phone in his hands, his voice as disinterested as he could make it.

"No, Hogsmeade weekend tomorrow. She said she'd help supervise the lower years."

"Oh." Draco handed back the phone and frowned thoughtfully. "I don't remember ever being supervised."

"That's what I told her," Harry said. "I told her the lower years didn't need supervision, but you know Hermione."

"Then again, maybe if we'd had supervision before, I wouldn't have been pelted with snowballs by an invisible force." Draco looked pointedly at Harry, while Ron laughed. Harry had the decency to look a tiny bit guilty.

"Oh, like you wouldn't have done the same. It was fun."

That evening, Draco sat in the study, holding the vial of Felix Felicis contemplatively. He didn't have all that much left. It was enough for two, maybe three more sips. The realization hit him with some regret and disappointment, but not the sense of despair that he had expected.

At lunch with the Gryffindors, the thought had occurred to him that maybe he didn't need it anymore. His life wasn't perfect, but it wasn't ever going to be, and although he knew he had a long way to go before he would be completely happy, he was on the right track. Lucius wanted him to use it to raise the family name, but that was something Draco thought was better earned through respect and trust.

The only question was Hermione. Draco knew he wanted to see her again. Every time he had seen her since his release from Azkaban, it had been under the influence of the Felix Felicis potion. If he stopped drinking the potion, he might never see her again.

But Hermione would be in Hogsmeade tomorrow – it was probably the only day he would know where she'd be.

It was his chance.

**A/N:** Hi again! Second to last chapter! The next one will be the last, we're sad to say. Good thing is, we've got another fic ready to be posted (it's part of a challenge, but once the mods of that challenge say we can post it elsewhere, we'll probably post it here) and we've also got another plot bunny that we're trying to work on. Unfortunately, as we're still quite busy (not on holiday anymore, but starting school again) we still can't reply to reviews! But we appreciate them all the same, and will definitely try to reply when we can. Thank you all so much! Hope you enjoy this little chapter. :)


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning, Draco stood at the counter of Bookity Books, the bookshop in Hogsmeade. As he waited for the witch at the till to ring up his purchases (with many grumbles and glares; it was obvious she recognized him as a Malfoy), he fingered the vial in pocket, beside his moleskin pouch. He knew it would be safer to keep the Felix Felicis in his moleskin pouch, but he wanted to be able to feel it, to know it was there. Draco hadn't given in to his urge to sip the potion, but he kept it with him in case he needed a dose of good luck.

Once he had paid for his books, he politely asked the witch if he could read near the back of the store, since he was waiting for someone. After gazing at him suspiciously, the witch nodded briefly and turned away with a sniff.

"Thank you," Draco said gratefully, making himself comfy on a chair near the children's section. He checked his watch; it was half-past nine. He hoped Hermione wouldn't wait til the end of the day before dropping by the bookstore – but he was relatively certain that she _would_ visit the shop, even if he had to wait all day.

The minutes crept by, and the hours. Various students would come and browse through the shelves, and Draco was tempted to ask them if they knew where Hermione was, but he always held himself back. He was also tempted to have just a drop from the vial that felt like it was burning a hole through his pocket, begging to be noticed, but he resisted. He wanted to do this on his own, without the help of a luck potion.

Finally, at quarter to twelve, Draco heard Hermione's voice. "Good morning, Margaret! Lovely day, isn't it? Cold but not wet, at least!" Her voice was coming closer, and Draco sat up straighter in his chair.

"I wouldn't go back there if I were you, Ms. Granger, there's someone there–"

"Draco!" Hermione stopped still as she rounded the corner.

Draco stood up and grinned, relieved to find no traces of reluctance or dislike amidst her expressions of happiness and surprise. He thought she looked cute, her nose and cheeks reddened by the cold.

"Hey, Hermione." There, he'd said it. He'd said her name.

"This is a surprise," she said, moving a little closer. "Or maybe it isn't. We tend to run into each other a lot."

"No surprise," he smiled, trying to hide his nervousness. His right hand went into his pocket, touching the vial, making sure it was still there. "Potter and Weasley said you were coming to Hogsmeade this weekend, so I decided to look for you."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "You were waiting for me here?"

"Looks like I was right to."

She laughed. "I suppose everyone knows I can't pass up a visit to the bookshop."

"Is there anything in particular you're looking for?" Draco asked, wanting to ask her to the Three Broomsticks but not wanting to rush her out of the shop.

"No, I'm just browsing. Harry and Ron say I've got enough books to make a forest, and I hate to admit it, but they're right." She chuckled ruefully. "So I've started depending on the library at Hogwarts for my light reading. Wizarding history is just as fascinating as Muggle fantasy."

"We've got a huge library at the Manor. I'll trade you wizarding history for Muggle literature," he offered. "I've even got some memoirs from my great great great great ancestors. In exchange, you can give me... Sherlock Holmes mysteries."

Hermione smiled. "That hardly sounds like a fair trade, but I'm not going to complain!" She glanced at the two books he had bought. "Your library is full of books, but you can't find anything to read?"

"It's severely lacking in the Muggle Studies section," Draco explained, showing her the titles. "Don't want any future generations making the same mistake my ancestors did." He took a deep breath. "Now that our barter is settled, are you free for lunch?" He thought he sounded a bit too hopeful to be casual, but Hermione just nodded.

"Normally I'd eat with Ginny and her friends, but Ginny still hasn't quite forgiven me for last weekend," she laughed. "Seeing you here in Hogsmeade will probably make her angrier, but I'm quite beyond caring. She can be as immature as she likes."

They began to slowly head towards the entrance of the store. "I rather think you all have a legitimate excuse to hate me," Draco admitted. "Perhaps more you and Potter and Weasley than Ginny, but I'd probably hate myself, if I were her."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "We all hated you _before_. But you're not who you were, and if she can't see that, it's her loss."

Draco could only look at her in amazement. He felt a sense of euphoria – almost like he was on the Felix Felicis, but he knew he wasn't. It was all because of Hermione.

They passed the witch at the till, who was shooting Draco suspicious glares. "A word, Ms. Granger?" she asked.

"Of course," Hermione said, looking apologetically at Draco. "Can you wait outside?"

Draco shrugged and went outside. He wrapped his cloak around himself, feeling the crisp Scottish air bite into his skin. It was a lot colder than London. He didn't have to wait long before Hermione came bursting out, muttering furiously under her breath.

"Of all the nerve!" He heard her say as she stormed past him, motioning for him to follow. "No trust – no second chances – as if no one ever changes – and as if I can't take care of myself! Closed-minded cow!"

"Was there a problem?" Draco frowned, trying to keep up with her.

"She thought I was under the Imperius," Hermione said scornfully, "since she heard that you used it on Madame Rosmerta."

Draco abruptly stopped walking, feeling a chill run down his back, one that had nothing to do with the weather. That was what everyone thought of him. They would never forgive him. Why did Hermione trust him? Maybe she didn't, maybe this was all for nothing.

"I told her, of course, to keep her nose out of my business or I'd take my business to another book– Draco?" Hermione turned around, having just realized that he had stopped following her. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, what now?" she asked, exasperated. She walked back to him and tugged on his arm. "It's not like neither of us don't know what others say. Look, whatever it is – if you're having self-doubts – you can have them after lunch. I'm starved."

He didn't budge. "They all hate me."

"Of course they do – they don't know you! And they don't matter! Your parents don't hate you. Dumbledore and Snape didn't hate you. I don't hate you, and Harry and Ron don't hate you." She stepped a little closer, holding his hand instead of pulling his arm. "As long as you don't hate yourself, you'll be fine."

Draco wondered what he had done to deserve a friend like Hermione. She was worth a thousand other friends. He knew he had to do it, he had to ask her, he couldn't imagine not seeing her every weekend. His parents wanted him to marry a Greengrass, and while he wasn't thinking of marriage yet, he knew that Daphne and Astoria were nothing to Hermione. He had to see where this road would lead.

"Hermione–" He gripped her hand tighter; whether it was for comfort or to prevent her from running away, he didn't know. He couldn't look at her, so he directed the rest of his speech to the ground. "Can... Can we – I mean, if you're not busy, and if you want to..." Draco took a deep breath. "Do you want to do something next weekend? With me, I mean. I was thinking, instead of just bumping into each other, maybe we could plan it."

He was a bumbling idiot, he decided. Even Longbottom would have been more graceful in asking a girl out on a date. Feeling foolish, Draco tried to extricate his hand from hers, but Hermione held fast.

"I'd love that," she said honestly, and Draco raised his eyes to look at her. She was closer than he had expected, and his breath caught in his throat. It was too soon to kiss her, but it was something Draco looked forward to doing very much.

She smiled at him, and he grinned back. They resumed their walk to the Three Broomsticks, hand in hand.

"I've already made a revision schedule for the NEWTs," Hermione said. "A lot of my weekends aren't quite as free as they used to be. I can give you a copy, if you'd like. I do have a free weekend next weekend– I was thinking of going to Cardiff on Saturday for an exhibition on the history of Potions-making, particularly the non-Healing potions. Would you like to come?"

"Sure. I haven't been to Cardiff since Father took me with him on a business trip when I was ten." It was on the tip of his tongue to say that the NEWTs were months away, but if Hermione was anything like himself (and Draco knew she was much, much worse) she would have started studying ages ago. An idea struck him. "Hermione, do you think – I mean, if it's not too much trouble... I wouldn't want to be in your way or to inconvenience you or anything, but I was thinking..." She waited patiently as he struggled with the half-formed idea in his head. "Can I study with you sometime?" he finally blurted out.

Hermione looked up at him, surprised. "Study for the NEWTs?"

Draco nodded, looking slightly embarrassed. He unconsciously tightened his grip on Hermione's hand. "It's just... I feel like I'm forgetting. Or at least, that I'm not learning. I know I'll never get the chance to take the NEWTs, but if I can at least study, it'll keep me from feeling stupid."

"I'd love a study partner," she said with a smirk, "but I warn you, not many can keep up with me."

He smirked back, pleased with her acquiescence. "We'll see about that."

They reached the Three Broomsticks, discussing the best methods to study. Draco felt alive, alert, like his brain was finally awake again. He hadn't realized just how much he had missed school. He ignored the dirty looks, and hid his grin as Hermione shot her own glares at the other students. The hardest person to face was Madame Rosmerta. She, who had always been so friendly with the students, gazed at him with a look so full of distrust and disappointment that Draco couldn't take it. He asked to speak to her, with Hermione by his side since he knew she would never consent to be alone with him. Maybe it was the way his voice broke when he apologized, or the look in his eyes when he remembered just how desperate and terrified he had been, or the fact that he looked more like the young man he was, rather than a haughty, spoiled brat that softened the witch up a bit. She would never forgive him, never trust him, but she grudgingly acknowledged that he did what he thought was best, and with scum like that for parents, she could hardly blame him.

Draco wanted to defend his parents, but Hermione's grip on his arm stopped him. "Thanks for your time, Madame Rosmerta," she said. "Draco and I will go back to our lunch." Draco had forgotten how hungry she was when he went to talk to the proprietress.

"If there's anything I can do for you," he added eagerly, wishing there was a way to atone for his crimes, "please owl me. If you ever need help around the bar, I could learn, or if you need..." He was about to say money, but he could see that the idea wouldn't sit well with Rosmerta, who took pride in her successful pub. "If you need anything at all, just let me know." He had no idea why he was offering – it surprised even himself – all he knew was that he was really sorry, and that this was the only way to make up for things.

Rosmerta waved him away. "Just go back to your table," she frowned. "And don't come back here unless you've got Ms. Granger here with you. If I see you here alone..." She left the threat hanging, and Draco backed away to their table, nodding profusely.

He slid into the seat next to Hermione, and she smiled at him. "That was good, Draco."

"Wasn't easy." His heart was still beating rapidly, and he wiped some sweat from his brow.

"That's why it's so good."

They placed their lunch orders, and spent most of the meal talking about Hermione's plans after getting her NEWTs. It was when she was talking about a possible career in potions research that Draco remembered the bottle in his pocket. He remembered thinking, months ago, that Hermione would be one of the few who could identify the potion on sight. Perhaps it was because he was deliriously happy to be spending time with Hermione, or because she had rubbed off of him over the past few months, but his Slytherin sensibility left him. He took out the bottle and waved it in front of her face.

"Can you recognize this potion?"

Hermione snatched it from his hand and held it up to the light for better inspection. "Draco, where did you get this? It's Felix Felicis, isn't it?"

"Right in one!" He was rather proud that his prediction was right. "My parents gave it for my last birthday, hoping it would bring me some happiness, I think. I didn't know what it was, and at the time I couldn't ask you, but I eventually guessed it was Felix Felicis, so I tried it one day, that day I first met you and Anna in London. And the next time I tried it, it was that day at Regent's Park..." Draco trailed off, noticing Hermione's expression for the first time.

"Go on," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. "So you used it again, and we met up again, and every single time we've met up has been because of that potion?"

"Well," Draco said, stalling for time, "take it as a compliment. I'm lucky to know you."

"A compliment," she replied angrily, "would be you asking me out instead of relying on a stupid potion to make sure we see each other! Did you take any today?"

"No! I swear I didn't. I told you I was waiting for you, and I did ask you out this time. And besides, it's not like _you_ ever invited me!"

"I– but– you–" Hermione spluttered, eventually settling for "that's beside the point."

They both were silent, staring at the remainder of their food on their plates. Draco wasn't quite sure why Hermione was so upset, but he supposed she hated the thought that she'd had no control over her actions, and was guided by the potion. But if anything, he'd been guided by the potion, not her. He knew she would realize it soon enough.

Hermione gave him a sidelong glance. "You really didn't take any today?"

"I told you, no. Why do you keep asking?" Draco asked, irritably.

Again, she looked at him from the corner of her eye and seemed to hesitate before speaking. "I was just thinking that it must be your lucky day," she finally turned to face him, "since I feel inclined to forgive you without much of a fight." She smiled at him tentatively, but he just scoffed.

"I wouldn't call that lucky. I'd call that normal. I don't see why I shouldn't be forgiven, if there is in fact any thing to forgive. So you see, Hermione, you are wrong." He chuckled to himself as she went rigid. It was mean of him, but he rather enjoyed telling her she was wrong.

"You should consider yourself lucky," she snapped.

"But _considering_ myself lucky and _being_ lucky are two totally different things. Which is it, Hermione? You can't be right about both." He was enjoying himself immensely, but knew that he ought to stop soon, before he drove her away. He still planned on spending the rest of the day with her, after all.

"Of course I can."

Draco had just opened his mouth to argue, when she invaded his personal space and kissed him. It was short, unexpected, a bit rough, and over too fast. When she moved away, he leaned forward to return the kiss. She pushed him away gently after a few seconds, and raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

Draco felt a foolish grin spread across his face, and was helpless to stop it. "You're right. Lucky me."

_Even hearts like mine get lucky sometimes._

_**Some Hearts, Carrie Underwood**_

**A/N**: Last chapter! Sorry it took a while for us to post it. This fic ends as Draco and Hermione begin another level in their relationship. You can all just imagine what it'll lead to. ;) Thanks so much for sticking with us through the whole story, and for your wonderful reviews! We're glad you enjoyed the fic! :)


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